Lunacy
by Crow-Black Dream
Summary: When Cye suffers a monstrous transformation, friends and family desperately search for answers. Meanwhile in the Nether Realm, moons align and threaten to unleash cosmic horrors unto both worlds.
1. Chapter 1

**_Lunacy_**

 ** _by Crow-Black Dream_**

When Cye suffers a monstrous transformation, friends and family desperately search for answers. Meanwhile in the Nether Realm, moons align and threaten to unleash cosmic horrors unto both worlds.

Author's Notes: Obligatory disclaimer stating that I do not own any of the characters in the Ronin Warriors universe.

This is the revised version of a story I began to post several years ago. What started off as a seemingly simple plot has evolved into an attempt to develop the characters beyond the series. As an American writer who has never visited Japan, I have little idea of what their culture is like nor do I understand the language aside from bits and pieces. Therefore I will be making using little or no attempts at writing in Japanese aside from the tradition of surname first.

While I have seen the entire series including the OVAs it has been many years for the latter. Never have I read the untranslated manga. Certain aspects of the characters' lives are canon including Cye's family members, though I have taken liberties with many details. Please pardon any typos or grammatical errors.

Set in late summer 1994, approximately 6 years after the war with Talpa.

Genres include: scifi, drama, horror (of sorts), mythology, origins, family. Current rating is T - may change to M due to subject matter. Beware the gory details.

Lastly, a polite nod to H.P. Lovecraft for all the monsters and madness.

 **Chapter One**

Cye was lost in the peaceful silver light as he arched and rolled through the currents. Here it was quiet. Here he did not need a breath. On and on he flowed into the depths, mesmerized by the tangle of lights and shadows. Somewhere in between something began to take form. The longer he looked at it the larger it was, a mass of darkness that grew and seemed to become the ocean itself. Rhythmically his arms reached for a lure of silken black fins.

Through the fluid came a great guttural noise. It was organic: a purr, a hiss, a growl all at once… yet it was a sound no known creature can create, too much like metal rending apart. Or perhaps it was too much like groaning door hinges. A pressure wave rattled his head and heart before it faded into the whisper of wavelets breaking against the sky. A sting of salt coursed through his nose. Inky blood streamed around his face and in the splintered beams of light he could see the saltwater had turned it vile green.

A watery basso laugh echoed maliciously, sending a bolt of loud electricity through his nerves as the light above turned sinister. He knew that voice; it was the sound of hell itself.

And then he remembered. Of course he needed a breath. He began to kick furiously toward the blinding rays even as they began to sear him. Just as soon as he wondered if there was a fire above burning away the air, he surfaced somewhere between waves and blankets of sand. For one moment he saw a towering red gate.

Gravity struck him with a rush of sea foam. His head lolled as vertigo sent the stars spinning overhead. He lay there for what seemed to be hours, yet when he sat up it felt as though mere moments had passed. It took longer still for his equilibrium to right itself. He caught sight of the reddened moon rolling like a marble. When he shut his eyes the colors reversed themselves into a sickly green disc with a black halo radiating out into static white. He put the palms of his hands to his eyes and rubbed away the afterimage. Cautiously he cracked open his vision and discovered with much relief that the world had stopped spinning. Beyond a short beach and up a hill was a city darkened in slumber. Candle flames cast little havens of light from where they danced along the edges of town.

With a sudden weariness he set himself to scaling the hill and found himself worn out barely halfway up. The soil had become nearly vertical and, looking up, he noticed the terrain curve back over his head. He felt as if he looked back far enough he would seize with dizziness and fall. Instead he set to climbing without ascending into the concave formation. When he thought he had made his way around it the sandy earth began to erode under his hands. Frantically he grasped at plant roots and found them tearing out in his grasp. It was then that he noticed how very different his own body looked. Larger, as though the bones of his wrists and fingers had grown, and perhaps it was the dirt on his skin, perhaps it was the moonlight playing tricks, perhaps it was the fact that he was too busy trying to cling to the side of the slope… but it looked as though the back of his hands and forearms were matted in hair. The world seemed to tip back again. Terrified, Cye dug nearly up to the elbows in desperate stabs as he climbed over the edge of the hill.

And then there he was, safe at last.

All the candles flickered out, or rather they seemed to converge into one small bonfire. Inside the blackened glass buildings strange faces shied away when he looked upon them. As he marched into the fire's illumination he could see the details around it: a circle of stones and beyond that, a small table. Atop said table, a long-necked bottle was fiercely alight with reflected flames. The closer he got he was able to make out a figure sitting in a wicker chair. His heart missed a beat when he realized it wasn't moving. Instinctively his feet froze in place.

It was a woman with her head resting crookedly on her shoulder. Blue reflections of the galaxy shone in the raven-black hair cascading down over her face. A glass of red wine was clutched in her upturned left hand resting on the table. When Cye looked at the little moon reflected in the surface of the wine, the glass began to tremble as her head righted itself in a slow tilt. The skin was stretched taught and the moonlight that played over her features gave her face a very lifeless look. From the hollow sockets he could feel something inhuman gazing absently at him. All at once he recognized her. The wine-stained lips moved to recite a warning:

 _Three moons rise; one door unlocks._

 _A wolf turns and howls._

 _A sacrifice shall be made._

The words cut through him like no enemy blades ever had.

Cye shuddered. He nearly asked her what it meant but he was too frightened to hear any of it again. The woman's voice was overlaid with masculine tones, one like sandpaper, one like a mountain river. He hesitated too long, for a single passing cloud swept necrotic shadows across her face as she sat up in her chair with her arm extended to point out into the darkness behind him.

The entire time he had been hearing an implacable buzz in the background. At first he assumed it was cicadas. Then in the silence following the macabre poem a sputter and hiss made him jump back expecting snake strikes. He looked around for the source, the otherwise silent world underscored by this sound which was nothing more than the ocean crashing against the beach. It had never really been gone; the forefront of his mind simply picked it up again. With his jumpy heart calming a bit, he remembered her standing there and looked up. She was posing exactly as she had been before, a strange juxtaposition of living and dead. Before he turned away from her he realized all the stars had gone out from the sky.

By the cast of moonlight he recognized the cityscape stretching away over the ocean. The old bay bridge gleamed. Around the footings churned the eternal whirlpools. Brilliant white light darted every which way in the angry waters. Looking upon it he felt that it was both the reflection of the piercing moonlight and it was boiling up from the depths.

The poem repeated itself in his head. Pondering it a second time around, he lifted his eyes to the horizon and saw the gate beyond the whirlpools. It rose menacingly from the waves, giving an impression that if the doors opened one could swim through. The sea lapped at a lock.

The sight brought the vertigo rushing back. All at once he was on an unseen edge and before he could even consider finding a handhold he was already plunging headlong toward the swirl of salt. He tried to take one more gasp of air just as his body broke the water's surface, the shock finishing the job.

…

Cye choked on air as he sat up with the conviction that he was currently drowning in saltwater and his own blood. He flopped back onto the bed, panting, initially unable to recognize his surroundings. Hazily he wondered if he really had been holding his breath in his sleep.

He was back in his bedroom, or rather, he had never left. The house was dark and still only for a moment. Immediately his ears tuned into the measured tick of the living room mantle clock that opposed the chaotically bubbling fish tank aerator downstairs. The sound of rain pattered against the roof tiles and heavy curtained windowpanes. Gray gloom hinted at light from the outside world. For a while he looked up into the darkness. He wondered what time it was. Ultimately his mind kept circling around to one worrisome thought: the words in his dream were an omen. And so he lay there nervously running his fingernails over his itchy skin and through his facial hair while the adrenaline coursed through his body.

It was tolerable for a while. It became apparent, though, that this wired feeling was not about to subside. It was beyond the electrified nerves, beyond the nightmare. It was something else. A visceral anxiety that began to rise when he realized he could not drown out the noise.

With two pillows vainly muffling his ears Cye recalled the source of this trick from old cartoons and cursed to himself when it didn't work. Besides, the two pillows around his head fulfilled the creeping sense of claustrophobia that had been weaving around him in a cocoon of blankets. Irritably he pushed them away, sick of being sick in this bed. His back ached and his legs thrashed involuntarily and at last it was too much for his body. He bolted upright to his feet, dragging the sweat-drenched sheets off the bed in the process.

That poem seemed either important or threatening… or both. Certainly worth writing down. Normally he was not one for keeping a dream journal (heaven knew there would be enough to fill the pages) and so the only reasonable option at this hour was a sheet of notebook paper. There was sufficient light for finding his Physics notes in his desk and scratching out the words on a clean sheet. Only when he was nearly finished writing did he realize that he had penned it out not in his native Japanese but in secondary English. He finished writing and read it again. He might have heard it in both languages; it had happened in dreams throughout his life.

Under the poem he began to write down the entire dream for consideration in the morning. He described swimming and chasing after something he couldn't put a name to. He got as far hearing Talpa's laugh. He put the pen down on the desk, shut the notebook and got up very purposefully as he felt his saliva begin to thicken with bile at the mere memory of the dream-vertigo. Suddenly his entire digestive system knotted around itself and contracted upwards.

He threw open the door and stalked naked down the hall toward the bathroom. All too late he found out that the overhead light was too much for his eyes; as soon as he flipped the switch he shrank back with a wince and a groan. There was a sharp crack of bone on tile as he fell to his knees and fumbled open the toilet seat just in time to be sick. The vomit was a foul, brackish fluid welled up from the pits of his small intestine. It was all water and canned soup, for that was all he'd had the energy to handle. His abs flexed and cramped in an attempt to force it all out in one push. In the moment he spent willing his body to ease up he also tried to remember the names of the various rock stars who had asphyxiated on their own puke. The headache clamped around his eyes with the action until the edge of his vision went white. He coughed, doubled over with pain seizing his groin. Long strings of spit nearly reached the toilet water and the sight made him sick all over again.

This went on for a few minutes. At no time did his strangely keen hearing focus on the phone ringing in the kitchen.

Finally his body had exhausted itself of all returnable liquid content. He wiped his mouth the back of his hand and cursed the poor decision when the mucus-thick spittle clung to a patch of hair on the webbing between thumb and forefinger. He wiped it away with toilet paper and threw it into the bowl, grimacing at the mess there. With the glass sitting on the mirror shelf he drew a cup of water from the tap, swished it around his mouth, spit it into the toilet. He did this until his mouth was cleared. Each time he spat he felt his sickened body relax. After brushing his teeth he took cautious, painful gulps of water only to discover that his throat was burned raw with vomit. He closed the lid, flushed, and collapsed back into the corner between the wall and door, absolutely exhausted. His abs trembled. His body had been through this for many days now.

Sleep overtook him there in a light doze. After an hour his mind drifted back near his body, which was vaguely aware of the light shining against his eyelids and the ache in his joints. When he came around he clambered up the doorframe in an attempt to stand. He studied his reflection, at first from the distance of the doorway as his sight adjusted, inching closer and closer until he was inspecting every angle in horror.

It looked as though he hadn't shaved in weeks. More than that: it seemed the finest hairs masking the outer angles of his eyes had thickened noticeably. His eyebrows faded into his hairline, if there was a hairline to be spoken of. The growth pattern of his beard (something relatively new in itself) was beginning to sweep back into the nape of his neck. He leaned against the mirror to inspect every follicle on his face before looking at his arms. Sure enough, an obscene amount of hair, and an obscene auburn red to really draw attention.

 _I look like a fifty year old man!_ Cye thought as he stared at his knuckles with morbid fascination. _Thirty years too young for this!_

He opened a drawer under the counter to fetch his shaving kit. He grimaced at the razor when he spotted the hair between the dull blades. There were no new heads under the sink. Impatiently he sighed and did his best to wash out the mess before mixing up a lather, which he applied from the inner angles of his collarbones nearly up to his eyes. The razor made a slew of sickly scrapes that harvested only a thin crop of hair and abundant springs of blood. Cye craned his head back and stretched the skin of his neck to make another pass with the washed blade. Again, barely half the hair came away as his skin protested against the micro cuts. He kept working across the neck, wondering how many ingrown hairs would come of this. By the time the underside of his jaw was shaved from ear to ear he was oozing blood. Angrily he threw the razor in the trash, knowing better than to continue on to his face. The skin was too reddened and raw.

On his bare neck he could see his Adam's apple was protruding more than usual, giving his throat a lumpy, unhealthy look. His skull, too, seemed abnormal. Without a decent razor to shave his face he ran his fingers through the scruff to feel underneath. The cheekbones were sharp, lending to the illusion of sunken eyes. He looked uncertainly at his forehead, which seemed to be developing a heavy slope. The jaw had lost its curve and gained sharp angles. Peeling back his lips revealed teeth that seemed to grow larger and sharper even now as he watched. Cye turned away, unable to stand the sight anymore. His body revolted him more and more each day. Tonight's nightmare was the first time he had noticed it in the dream world.

Suddenly the nausea seized his innards and he collapsed with the sickness welling up again. Small, exhausted tears ringed his eyes. Outside, the rain roared down and masked a hungry moon.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: A minor character now has a name instead of a placeholder. Oops.

It is my goal to have a new chapter posted every few weeks. Chapter three is almost ready to go.

 **Chapter Two**

The Nether Realm was a place of eternal twilight, a land of perpetual summer. A fickle sun rose and set in low swings with much of its time spent looking upon other lands. Constellations rotated and ebbed and flowed beyond a swirling pall of moody yellow sky. There was enough sunshine to permeate the darkness between the stars, rich golden light, enough the feed the foliage between the thundering bouts of rain. The soil was mostly fertile save for a crop of stone hills to the west of the large village. The terrain was always lush with some plants and trees existing serenely since before Talpa's age, some cycling through life to give way to a new crop pushing up through the endless season.

It was in the lily-strewn swamplands of the south where a great gate appeared, a half-substantial red doorway two hundred feet high leading into distances unknown. It materialized slowly from nothing. It stood silent, waiting.

To the east of the city lay a graveyard. It had a proper boundary marked with a wrought iron fence, though the groundskeeper never bothered to lock the gate. Her house was settled on a small ridge along the back of the cemetery. It was, in fact, a new mausoleum. Many of the low-level servants that existed in the shadowy background of the mighty castle had died in Talpa's final exertion of power before he was extinguished forever by the Ronin Warriors. She knew she'd had a heavy hand in their deaths, be it through their life forces that sustained her or through the direct blows tearing the place apart in her battles. Either way she owed a debt to these lost souls. In the dark days there was nobody to tend the cemetery; it had gone to hell like the rest of the land. And so she had helped dig the earth, prepare the bodies, minister the prayers, lower the coffins, level the graves, keep them clean long after the mourners had gone.

She had nowhere to go. During those first long burial days she slept in the ruins of the castle when she ventured away from the grounds at sunset. The architects noticed this about the same time they were discovering that the death toll was not as high as originally projected, the very circumstance that had facilitated the construction of three large above-ground tombs. These mausoleums were reserved for individuals of high rank or status. The one on the ridge was going to be vacant, yet it was necessary to finish building so it would not immediately fall to ruin. That very morning they noted that the girl who had become the de facto gravedigger was homeless. Plans were changed; the internal structure was redesigned with one high slab on the open rear wall to serve as a small loft. A window reinforced with iron bars in each of the side walls' eye-level slabs allowed for light from the outside world. With respect to the dead a privy was dug off the cemetery grounds a short walk away. Further upstream nearer the creek, further from the various states of rot a well was sounded and a pump was installed. From the castle's toppled labyrinth walls the architects took enough material to fashion a small addition to the house that served as a kitchen complete with a salvaged potbelly stove.

They presented it to the girl, who accepted with wide-eyed surprise and secret reluctance. She had taken to bedding down in the recesses of a sheltered deck with a nagging fear that any residual evil gathering in the dark corners would slowly reclaim her. In her gratitude she bowed very nearly to the ground, and when she rose up the mausoleum loomed over her. Accepting this bare home meant resigning herself to a life among the dead.

That was six years ago.

Kayura was standing in the doorway now with a bunch of midnight grapes in hand, eating absentmindedly as she regarded the living souls that wandered about the graveyard. In the moments when she was completely honest with herself, she admitted she had not quite wanted this. While she was unendingly grateful for the charity (she had been gifted a _home_ , after all, no matter its location) and for a roof that was not collapsing over her head, she had never intended to look after the cemetery forever. Then again, she had never intended on most of what had happened throughout her life.

She leaned against the heavy wooden door and looked off to the left, out into the potter's field sloping down the backside of the ridge. Of course the people here had divisions of who could or could not be buried in hallowed ground, just as they did in any civilization. Thus the holy dead slept in the rich soil while the unbaptized, the murderers, the thieves were laid to rest forever in a stripped vein of clay. Kayura did not argue with the funereal customs; she just tidied the graves.

She cast a wary sweep around the small necropolis. Soon three moons would be ascending in opposite arcs over the horizon. They would rise and pass nearer and nearer each other these next three nights, converging that final night. It was a time of great celebration and great magic.

The Nether realm was populated from many times, many lands, many dimensions. Therefore there were many superstitions and ceremonies carried over from old homes, blended and adapted into this festival meant to honor the meeting of the moons. There were religious leaders more officious than she who were in charge of organizing it all, though they had chosen her as one of the participants. This was simply one more task she reluctantly accepted, which showed now as she put off leaving.

This morning she had blessed the entire area with smoke of sage and palo santo wood in anticipation. Otherwise she was relieved from her usual duties for the next few days. There were people milling about now on both sides, raking out dead grass, scrubbing tombstone inscriptions, bedecking the stones with flower wreaths. All things she tended to on a regular basis. Really, they scarcely had any real work to do. Just have a picnic and leave grave goods. An extra plate of food was left along with a cup from every meal (which Kayura didn't quite care for; she could see it was already attracting insects). Inscriptions received fresh coats of gold leaf. Toys and trinkets and candles crowded the stones. Simple stick effigies, some fancy enough to include stuffed burlap heads, were dressed in clothes of the lost loved ones. Many a dead man's shirt flapped in the evening breeze. This was not to say every grave was visited. Friends and entire families had died. Sometimes there was simply no one left to mourn them.

Already a chorus of drum beats was ramping up in the town square. A messenger was making his way across the lawn straight to her front step, which was piled on either end with offerings for her - bowls of fruits and breads and coins and more. He was one of the little dead, the children who had taken to dressing themselves like skeletons for the celebration. Kayura recognized him as mayor Lerion's boy and knew her time had come.

"Good evening, Lady Kayura," the boy, no more than eight or nine years old, pulled his mask up over yellow spiral curls to look her straight in the eyes as he bowed reverently.

"Good evening, Takeet," she returned with a warm smile. Children often feared her; this one did not.

"Sir Lerion requests your presence for the ceremony," the boy said markedly, the words sounding too important for his young vocabulary.

"Of course. I've been putting off leaving." She leaned over to whisper conspiratorially, "I must admit, I'm scared."

"Don't be!" the boy said brightly, forgetting his formal script. "There are so many people and they're building up the fires! Lots of drums-"

Here he paused to drum on his chest in excitement. "-and you can smell all the good food cooking! There are so many people! It'll be fun!"

"I suppose it will be. Wait here." Kayura receded into the house and returned with her hat and staff, which were resting on one of the slab shelves, along with four blessed candles and a box of matches. On the way out she picked up a small traveling pack and slung it over her shoulders. She pulled the door closed behind her, turned the latch, and set off without locking the bolt. Over time people had come to associate her with the ill luck of death and it went without saying that anyone with sense would not bring about a curse by stealing from the Lady of the dead.

"Come, help me greet our guests," she handed the jarred candles to the boy. Together they set walked to the cardinal points at the cemetery boundaries, half-burying them with the trusted spade from her belt before invoking each compass point's element with a prayer. When they had finished they had worked their way round to the house again. While T… waited she returned her tools to one of the stone pedestals capping the stairs. Kayura gathered up handfuls of seeds and cherries and grapes into a drawstring pouch, which she looped around her waist. Some of it would be a discreet snack throughout the evening, some of it would be offered up to the gods. Most of it would be consumed by fauna.

"O ye of the departed," she began, casting some of the food to the ground, "Come and partake with us these three nights! We welcome you with love and peace!"

Takeet stood away, slightly afraid to be involved in such a powerful moment. As she spoke Kayura's eyes had a distant look, as though she was seeing into another world. But then she turned to him and smiled, and she was the girl he knew once again.

She took another handful of seeds and shared it with the boy as they set off toward the village.

…

To the north of the town square lay the dilapidated remnants of Talpa's castle. Much of the siding and doors had been removed, revealing the building's gaping skeleton. No one wanted to touch the darkest portions, for they feared his essence had contaminated every surface. Had they not needed building material for shelter they would have left the place intact to rot.

The seemingly endless curtain walls that had made up the maze-curled courtyard were disassembled and repurposed in the population boom following liberation from the demon lord. Many servants had walked the halls as living ghosts, and many of them died in the final hours. Many other hapless souls were simply kept simply as cattle to provide Talpa with the negative life forces of terror and pain that fed him, strengthened him throughout the years. These people had been drawn in from different cultures, times, worlds. They existed only in darkness, and when the light of Hariel's Inferno finally dawned upon them it cast a merciful amnesia.

The survivors now existed peacefully, if not a little nervously, as though their forgetfulness was a river that concealed a bed of psychological scars rather than washing it away altogether. They lived crudely but honestly, existing close to the earth and turning their eyes up to the stars for godly answers.

In their superstition they had left a swatch of largely untouched land between the village and the castle remains. Under Dynasty rule an immense stretch of flat pasture was razed for an expansive corral and a great number of stables. The horses were terrifying creatures, unflinching beats of muscle and might ready to charge headlong into an enemy sword. After the liberation many of the stable hands took on a different life and many of the horses slipped toward their ancestor's feral ways.

Cale had been fond of the equestrian training in his days as a warlord. The horses had fled from him despite their general fearlessness, and his domineering spirit reveled in the power struggle of breaking them to his will. He enjoyed the speed atop their backs, the grace with which they moved. In a time when he was not allowed to enjoy anything but terror and blood even within the recesses of his mind, he liked the horses.

Then the revolution came, and Talpa was dead… or banished to whatever original realm he spawned from. The surviving horses went largely untended. Cale fed and groomed them as much as he could when he wasn't among the effort to build houses for the displaced. He found suitable shelter in the stables, very much preferring it to the castle he had been confined to for so long. When he realized nobody had claimed the ranch out of fear he seized it as his own.

It was a large wooden affair meant to house eight ranch hands. Or rather, the top tier of ranch hands. The overseers. There had been many more barrack-like buildings, but the new crop of people saw them fit to use as fencing and firewood. The ranch house's main door opened into a large sitting room that occupied the entire front half of the house. Besides a general disarray of camping gear he kept for long drives out to the far pastures, the room contained old pine furniture, large and comfortable, with refurbished leather cushions stuffed and stitched by hand. Deerskin rugs graced the floor. These had been prepared in the work building between the house and the stables. He was born of a butcher, and he found pleasure in working with hide after all these years.

In the bottleneck hallway a set of stairs ascended into a high-ceilinged room with exposed beams crossing to reinforce the angle of the roof. Papered windows on the south face of the recessed attic shut out most of the light from the single bed, which was just how he liked it. Most days there was a tapestry adding to the darkness in the largely empty room.

Downstairs, the back of the house diverged. To the left was a large kitchen rank with blood from the large amounts of meat he kept in his diet. The sink and stove ran like troughs along the southern and western walls respectively. A back door led out to a screened porch that let out into a large yard with an outhouse between the trees.

The house had a proper washroom and contained a bolted tub that, unlike the sink, actually _was_ a trough. One for bathing with a laundry line hanging overhead, and one more trough outside for washing off the worst filth. Some clever person had fitted these all together into an adjoining pipe that drained out of a lip beyond the house and into a ditch.

This room's east-facing window was rolled open to let the air in through the insect netting affixed to the outer frame. Cale stood staring into a polished silver mirror with a small sharp knife in his hand, his eyesight impeccable even in the gathering darkness. Slowly he raised the blade to his face and sliced against the scruff that had been growing these past few weeks. To get at the delicate skin over his jugular he pushed out his jaw, which exaggerated his mouth's subtle underbite into a grotesque mask. That done, he took care to stretch the scar tissue of the vertical slash grazing his left cheek for a pass with the blade; a few random bristles grew there in the marred flesh. His shirt had been stripped off and the shavings fell and mingled with the mat of hair running down from chest to stomach, some of it catching in the waistband of his pants.

As he shaved he had a strange thought of that Ronin Warrior Torrent. He stepped back from the mirror, puzzled. What had brought up that image?

He continued on. When he was done he turned this way and that to inspect the slightly distorted reflection. All smooth right now. By tomorrow there would be a haze of blue-black hair darkening his jaw. As an afterthought he leaned in close to shave the patch of skin between his eyebrows.

Outside the back door a metal basin was heating water over a fire. Cale turned to fetch it and stopped in his tracks when he spotted a horrible sight through the silk strands netting the open front windows: a Dynasty gate loomed south of town. It flickered as if underwater and was very faint, but he saw it clearly.

"Damnation…" he growled, a cold terror sweeping up from his feet. "Damnation!"

All at once he hauled the basin of water from its spit, using some to extinguish the flames and emptying the rest into the tub. He kicked off his pants and stepped into the warm water, bathed quickly. As soon as the drain was open he was out onto a bathmat toweling the excess water from his body hair. He strode upstairs for a clean set of clothes. Socks, pants, short-sleeved work shirt, suspenders. He dressed in the lightless room and went downstairs to close up the house. His boots sat waiting just outside the front door. With the locks turned and the keys on his belt loop he set out for the stables. There he prepared the one and only horse he trusted with his life: a monstrous black Clydesdale named Kumo who stood nearly twenty hands high. He was a beast temperamental to all but Cale. The animal did not fear the abrasive nature in him; instead he seemed rather keen to take on a rider who possessed such distinct direction. Cale was sharp in his commands but never cruel.

He swept the saddle and bridle and other gear from the proper hooks and fitted them into place with astounding speed. Kumo sensed his urgency and remained still for the process. He stepped proudly as his master led him out of the barn to close the door and climb up, and when the loud " _Hyah!_ " was given he shot off like a bolt.

The two of them were very nearly invisible in the darkness.

…

South of where the festival officials laid kindling into an enormous pile, a high and narrow building stood with its broad face peering over the neighboring teahouse that lay between it and the town square. It was constructed from scrapped ranch barracks, solidified with mortar and stone at the door and hearth, capped with roof tiles off the great palace itself. Originally the windows had been paper; over time the owner prospered enough to have glass panes fitted, a move that had certainly advanced sales. A steel arm jutted out beneath the roof near the corner with the business name hanging on an ornately lacquered rectangular wooden sign: Madam Chirinobi's Silks.

Dais stood counting out money, tallying it in a ledger, separating it into neat piles of bills and bags of coins. Nether Realm money could be quite chaotic with its different sources. In the wake of the Dynasty a fledgling government was working its changes slowly but surely. There was a mint, yes, but the new standardized money had not reached the entire population yet. It was an especially difficult task considering there were many who simply lived outside the realm of money by bartering.

He sighed and finished the task with the banded stacks and bags stashed away with the ledger inside a heavy wall safe before swinging the door shut to be locked. The reformed Warlord of Illusion turned and regarded the state of the shop: comparatively barren in relation to most days. The festival brought many into the crowd and the building had the fortune of being so near the central circle. There had been excellent business today, more to be expected tomorrow and the day after. Things had finally quieted down around sunset. By the time the practice drums started the last patrons had hurried out in anticipation, leaving him to balance the books.

Here was a shop specializing not only in silks but all natural fabrics (the synthetic processes being unknown in this world), tailoring and weaving. To Dais the silks reminded him of days past. Days long before Talpa. He was unendingly grateful for the good graces of Madam Chirinobi. She was a good woman whose memories of the castle had never completely faded. However she was tempered with age, and forgiveness for Dais' sins came all too easy. She had been a seamstress in the Dynasty days, and after the downfall she discovered how very badly people needed to be clothed. Kindly she had worked out of charity, though the townsfolk gave her what they could. It was enough to secure a building (all the structures being erected went for practically nothing in that first year) and supplies. The goods were simple white cotton and silk at first. When the travelers came through the village she purchased their colorful fabrics and made connections. Eventually she had many fabrics and tools, enough to prosper. The small lot of her property contained enough room to install a dyeing tub out back.

From the very start the old woman needed help. She carried on silently, too proud to ask for help… until the day a Warlord came through the door. Dais was in need of new robes, and was embarrassed to discover his old seamstress at his service. She, too, remembered him through the haze. He had not been unkind to her, unlike the other Warlords; he had been merely indifferent. With his mind now free he enjoyed the textures and colors and patterns in her shop. Once he purchased the cotton along with needles and thread he took it back to the group housing where he fashioned himself a new robe. Quickly he discovered his sewing skills were not strong, and sheepishly he brought the garment in for Madam Chirinobi to tailor. In days past his pride never would have allowed it. However, he had learned humility. Moreoever, he was lonely and didn't mind the interaction of a business atmosphere.

During the fitting process the store owner apologized for taking so long, for she had only so much time to dedicate to each project. It was then that Dais made the bold move of asking for employment. Obviously he wasn't great with a needle, hence his need for her help. He was, however, very good with organizing and cleaning, and was willing to learn. And so it was arranged: he worked from open to close for little pay. He didn't mind. The hours gave him a place to be, and the money guaranteed a roof over his head and freedom from hunting or stealing his food. The customers knew his face from their mostly-forgotten nightmares, and they stayed away from him in the beginning. He stayed in the back room, coming out front only at Madam's request, before the clientele slowly learned that he was not there to inflict any harm upon them.

Ultimately he had come to love working with the loom, something that his employer owned but had never gained much skill with. It was much easier than sewing, and he loved conjuring intricate patterns from colored yarn threads. When the shop gained affluence after several months Madam Chirinobi was able to buy a small home, and offered her second-story bedroom to Dais as she moved out her personal belongings. All had been well between then and now.

He listened to the outside world. The music was picking up tempo and he could sense the crowd's energy ramping up to match. It was a good night to be alive.

The entire town was decked with colorful lights and little gifts for the gods and fellow mortal alike. In the failing daylight he looked over the dish of patron's offerings sitting on a corner of the desk: a few coins, three small roses, beads, stones. He sifted through until he felt glassy edges. It was hard to tell what it was, perhaps flint. He turned and leaned on his elbows against the desk to look out into the street with one hand turning the rock over to feel the razor points on his fingers.

The last patrons had gone before the last of the light slipped away. Dais hesitated to strike up the iron lanterns just yet. There was much to be seen outside. Old Mister Ayake's teahouse blocked any direct view of the town square, though it mattered not to Dais. He felt safer without direct exposure to that space. Still, he was entertained as he stood in the shadows watching people stop to look in the shop windows and get a final glance at all the wares before they continued on toward the main action.

In the alley between the grocer's and the tea house a man was practicing a few notes on a large horn. Dais listened, enthralled, completely unable to name the instrument. He had never been musically inclined. As the man grew more confident the notes grew louder, assembled into a string that matched the drums resounding from across the square. After a few minutes an older man wandered up with a similar instrument in hand. The first man paused in his medley and took up an inaudible but friendly conversation. Shortly thereafter the second man gestured at his friend with his palm up, suggesting 'Keep playing.' The improv continued while he listened with a nod as though he was assessing the pattern, then very suddenly he took up his own horn and joined in.

Dais was now sitting on the desk and listening in awe. He had never been able to fathom how one musician could hear these sounds to be translated through the hands and tempered metal, much less how another musician could read the first and integrate his own composition. He supposed it must be much like battling in certain aspects, though that notion had never helped him understand it any further.

The pair stopped playing again as the first horn player spotted someone out of Dais' line of sight. They hailed the unseen party and suddenly they were gone.

He sat there a while longer simply enjoying the immediate silence within the building. At last he got up and made his way toward the drapes. Like everything else here, they were sewn and dyed by hand. These were heavy silk, one sheer sheet of ivory and two heavy drapes dyed rose pink. He could not help but be reminded of his armor's similar dusky color. Here he stopped as a great flare of light rose over the teahouse's rooftop. Within moments it curled in on itself and died. The people sent up a cry after the phoenix. Fiery shadows rippled on the buildings and down the streets. The bonfires had been lit.

With the curtains drawn for the night he headed upstairs into the attic space that served as his quarters. It was here that he clearly heard the drums, but not the feminine chants that had begun in the east. The crowd's cheer roared and feel like raindrops on the roof.

Dais changed into fresh socks and better shoes. He was already dressed for the night in a new kimono: tightly-woven gray matte silk stitched with white hems and cobwebs draping across his right shoulder. Black and yellow garden spiders gave the monochromatic robe just the right amount of contrast. A wide golden obi kept the robe sashed shut.

Both Madam Chirinobi and Dais received many compliments. She had stitched it all herself and presented it to him all wrapped in a velvet garment box this very morning. In anticipation of the coming festival he had woven her a cloak of red, purple, and orange - her favorite colors. She was out there somewhere right now wearing it proudly. He smiled at the thought.

A very different beat, discordant with the drums, thundered silently through the floorboards. Dais felt it through his feet so strongly he was sure he could hear it. Horse hooves. They stopped near these walls. He stood straining to hear the next movement, assuming the horse was being hitched to one of the many rings lining the streets. When the furious knock came on the front door he nearly jumped out of his skin, former Dark Warlord or not. He swore under his breath. He did not enjoy the flash of cold adrenaline-riddled sweat, nor did he like being caught off-guard. Rather than answer the door directly he crossed the room where he opened the window and looked down to see who was there.

…

A path of rich black soil snaked its way west. As the land began to rise and change so did the path. The dirt became barren and lost its color as it approached a range of low mountains. The healthy dirt wore away until entire fields of rock were laid bare. Soon there was no path at all, nothing to mark the way except a crop of rocky spires to the southwest. They were treacherous monoliths where snakes sunned themselves by day and sapped the stone's residual heat by night. Winds whipped around a wide curve in the rock and deposited fertile soil from across the unmapped Nether Realm. Over time enough had accumulated in the foothills to sustain a small grove of trees and a homestead.

In the final years of Talpa's domination someone had constructed such a homestead from the struggling trees on the edge of the mountain. He was a widower, thus the home was enough for one. When Talpa had begun to take over the region many fled, but not the house's owner. He felt he was far out of reach, a conviction that proved deadly when his mind was taken in a sweep of fear. He was one of those who died screaming mad in the cellars.

The other Warlords had gone on to make their reparations following the downfall. Kayura dug graves for the dead, Cale tended the horses and livestock when he wasn't building houses, Dais had been part of the scrapping team before he began clothing the poor. Sekhmet had been too shocked, too struck with this new freedom. Rather than put in his time serving those he had oppressed, he wandered out into the wastelands without a second thought. His only concern became a very existential one: What now? His life had been a lie, a trap, a waking nightmare. He had terrorized and killed, and as far as he was concerned he was too tainted to contribute any repair efforts. There was no blood on his hands anymore but he was sure they would see it on every surface he touched. Without that purpose he had none. He did not know how many days or years were left within him. He did not know how he would live. He simply wandered.

And then he stumbled upon this house.

The wood was rough and somewhat sagging after years abandoned to the mild elements. It had required many repairs by its current owner. Just inside the front door was a rectangular table centered in the small room and a counter running along the eastern wall. Knives and boards served as a cooking area near the hearth. Three windows allowed enough light to work by. A small door accessed a closet full of dried herbs, oils and tinctures with a trapdoor leading to a claustrophobic root cellar. A bed occupied the same wall as the hearth. Furnishings were bare aside from the bed, table and a worn chair. A few stones graced the shelves after being collected in the fields. Most of the remaining space was consumed by jars, hand-dipped candles, pitchers, spools of twine, tools.

The true splendor was the garden that lay before the house. It had a greater total area than the shack, and it contained every functional plant known to the region confined within its borders. Rabbits and insects turned out to be the only real pests, a problem easily remedied with proper placement of certain fragrant plants and sprays. It had taken a long time to construct and grow. He had attended many market days, visited many outlying villages to collect seeds and plants and advice on how to raise it all. The tools were dulled with time and needed sharpening. He had made a trip into the castle ruins and searched all day before finding his treasure: a grinding stone. And then he was tasked with dragging it home. Without work animals he had tilled the garden by hand. Water had to be carried from a well across the rocky fields during the dry spells.

When news of the majestic garden stole around the townsfolk came calling to him somewhat regularly for teas and medicine, for their doctors had died off in the old days. Yet they seemed hesitant. Perhaps it was his glaring absence when the town was being rebuilt. Perhaps it was his appearance, as it always had been unsettling. Perhaps they had still feared him (rightfully so) after all the horror he'd inflicted. He did not know, he simply felt their aversion and matched it with his own.

Sekhmet was reclining out near the garden now. This cracking wicker chair was more valuable to him than the ratty thing he kept inside, considering how much time was spent out here. He looked over the trim garden approvingly. This afternoon he had harvested the available food and deadheaded the old leaves. Mosquitoes floated above the warmth of his body but did not care enough to pierce his skin. Never had he been plagued with the blood-sucking insects, or even spider bites. He was unsure if his blood was unpalatable, and unsure of how they knew to avoid him in the first place. Still, they had gathered overhead. A few little bats darted and swooped in for a meal, though most were hanging over the village in a flitting cloud, feeding on the hoard of insects there.

In his right hand he held a glass of water with a torn sprig of mint settled on the bottom, which he whirled around before drinking down the last of it. Just as he brought the heel of the glass down he looked around his world. That was when he saw the gate looming in the water lands. The sight cast a paralyzing fear over him. It brought back not-so-distant memories of violence. He had done many unspeakable things on both sides of that door. The feeling was an unrivaled dread that burned through his veins like venom, dread stronger than anything he had ever known before. He had walked into the trap willingly before; now he understood the glory of peace. He could not go back.

Finally with one fluid movement he was up and striding toward the house, his mind charged with anxious questions. Attending the festival had never been an option until this pressing moment. In a box next to his bed was a lightless green orb. It surface was dull, the texture somewhere between unpolished stone and reptile skin. If one held it up to a flame the character _Piety_ could be seen. Sekhmet did no such thing. He tied it off in a drawstring pouch, which he then affixed to a chain around his neck. Thick boots were laced for the long walk. He slipped on his best robe - a black yukata with autumn-colored stitched leaves, purchased from Madam Chirinobi - over the current cotton he was wearing before whisking a forest-green cloak over his shoulders. Deftly he pinned it across the chest and pulled up the hood to conceal his hair. The gold of his eyes was shaded nearly black in this late hour. He pulled the cowl a little lower just the same. After extinguishing the candles he closed the door and set off toward the central fire.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: Chapters two through six posted on 1/15/17. I don't always write in chronological order, rather I work on sections of the story and choose to publish several chapters at once. Several months may pass between updates, but I'm always working on it!

 **Chapter Three**

Mouri Marina stood in a hospital room with a newborn cradled in her arms. She hugged the bundled baby close and listened for, suddenly aware of the monitors patched to various points on her body as she gazed out the window at the moon rising over the eastern curve of the horizon. Beneath the wide swath of light reflected on the sea the waters darkened like ink. Then the glare of moonlight was too bright and she had to look away.

The city below was strangely lightless and lifeless. From where she stood there was one rogue bonfire set near a sharp drop down to the beach. In the contrasting shadows Marina wondered why the hospital's backup generators hadn't kicked in yet despite the faint beeping of the vital monitors. She forgot about the thought when she saw a young man nearing the fire, misshapen and familiar all at once. At the same time she felt a familiar heavy hand around her waist.

"He looks so much like you," she remarked proudly.

Things took a strange turn around the bonfire. The boy was standing off against someone that she could not see up here, yet a trio of voices rang loud enough to echo between the buildings. They recited some ugly nonsensical poem that wound around her and the infant. As the words unfolded themselves she noticed a red gate solidifying in the sea beyond the whirlpools.

The hand around her waist crushed the flesh of her hip. Instinctually Marina clutched the silent baby high on her breast and screamed in unhinged terror as they were dragged backward into the darkness.

…

Daylight filled her eyes and chased the dream away as sleep released her back into her senses. For a few moments the world was muddled, a blur of burning bright ocean waves juxtaposed with the words from the darkness while she tried to figure out if she had actually screamed. Then coral pink walls and a fluffy lace-hemmed white comforter came blazing into focus, all a bit too cheerful at this very moment.

Marina sat up, swung her short legs out of bed and shuffled down to the floor. She yawned and smoothed her clothes while she gathered her bearings. Currently she was staying in the home of Dayitse Asuka in sunny Kyoto, having a day off during her latest pottery tour. Asuka's guest room was not at all unfamiliar to her; she made a point to stop for a visit her old friend on many occasions and it had become something of a second bedroom to Marina. The women had had a late lunch together, now she was waking from a post-tea time nap.

She sauntered over to the mirror and took the brush from her purse to comb out her mane. With one hand she began to coil the temple locks to be pinned back while she leaned over to open the window blinds with the other. Evening sunbeams lit up her hair in a shock of silver and a few tenacious strands of gold that hinted at her former life as a blonde. Her face was round with a small nose and pale youthful skin, something that she tended with pride as she was neared fifty years old. Her big ocean-blue British eyes were especially striking here in the Land of the Rising Sun.

Her features shifted into a faintly lined frown as she thought about the weird words she'd heard upon waking. Like a curse. The entire nightmare came flooding to the front of her mind and she realized this was not the first time she'd experienced this dream.. It had preyed upon her one March night over twenty years ago. She was hysterical the first time around, later blaming it on post-natal hormones when she calmed down.

Today she was dangling just above the jaws of depression just as she did too many days. She could feel it nibbling at her when she thought of Hitoshi's hand crushing her. Normally she enjoyed dreaming of her deceased husband -

 _No, not deceased. That's too delicate a term. Dead. The love of your life is dead,_ her mind spat the word.

\- Normally she enjoyed dreaming of her dead husband. It was the only way she could still speak with him and hear his voice outside the static dialogue of home movies, even if their conversations never lasted long enough. But he hadn't spoken this time, and while the hand around her was his at first, she wasn't certain it was by the time she awoke. Then again, you could never really be certain about anything in dreams.

She rubbed her waist where the nerves ached as if they were still dreaming. Worse yet was a sense of dread growing in her mind. With a shudder she opened the door and called out nervously, "Asuka? May I use your phone?"

…

In the seaside house near Choshi, Cye was busy retching. The phone's ring hammered at the quiet air in the house, but he was too busy to notice it.

The answering machine picked up after the fourth ring. Marina heard her own chipper recorded voice: "Good day! You've reached the Mouri residence. We can't pick up the phone right now, so leave your name, number, and a message after the beep." Beep!

"Cye, it's mum. Are you there, lad?" She waited. When the receiver didn't click she continued, "Just wanted to check on you. Wondering if you're still feeling under the weather. I'm here at Asuka's and I'll be staying through tomorrow tonight. Should be home around suppertime the day after. Give a call back, love."

She hit the END button and nervously twisted the telescoping antenna before she pressed the TALK button and dialed another number.

…

Near downtown was a three-story apartment house on a hill. …. A low square table with a lacquered compass rose stood next to the open western window in a lamplit corner room on the top floor. A sea-green candle was nestled in a dish of sand, casting its light up as the central point in a spiral of shells both painted and natural, splinters of driftwood, shark teeth, polished ammonites, sand dollars, beach rocks, sea glass. The curtains were knotted and tied back from the flames' reach with a rosary, revealing a porcelain lucky cat who beckoned from the windowsill next to a plastic toad with a wizard hat. An antique glass float and a dried puffer fish hung from each end of the curtain rod. Tea lights cast up white light from their places on each cardinal point. A silver crucifix hung on the wall, alight with reflected pinpoints. A rainy breeze gusted through a cluster of pictures and knocked over a framed photograph of a family of four as the candles flickered.

It was a snapshot taken at the docks in 1981. A crowd of boats layered the background. Standing tall and broad-shouldered was the fisherman Mouri Hitoshi with a small proud smile stretching back his beard, his coarse mop of auburn hair sticking out under the brim of his faded blue work hat. Marina stood at his side in a beach dress with hands planted on her thick hips, her long golden hair spilling over her shoulders from under a Panama hat. A sea breeze stirred the fine blue fabric of her beach dress.

Front and center was Cye at eight years old, his hair redder than it was now, gap-toothed and holding a large snapper. His mother's features had manifested in the freckle-dotted porcelain skin, large blue eyes while he was very obviously his father's son in that he had the same curved jaw and auburn locks, the same long torso and wide chest.

Off center stood a slightly taller and older girl, sister Sayoko. Her wavy hair shone sand-blonde. The corners of her mouth hinted at a reserved smile. Her face was a young reflection of Marina in all ways but one: she had her maternal grandmother's wide, dark eyes. She had inherited her father's height and build.

Now, thirteen years later, Sayoko was reaching out to right the picture frame when the house's phones began to ring. She had already set her mail down on the nightstand and was getting up from her chair with a habitual glance at her favorite family portrait when the ringing stopped. Her roommate shout from the living room, "Hey! Phonecall! It's mama Mouri!"

A pass by the mirror revealed angles of her face which had become defined as the baby fat dropped away over time. A life of swimming had given her a thick, top-heavy body while the aquatics had also been a prime reason in the decision to bob her hair just below her chin.

She picked up her extension from its cradle on a bookshelf near the door. "Moshi moshi?"

"Hello, gally." Marina's voice had a certain sterling quality to it, a trait she had passed on to both her children.

"Hi, mum."

"How are you, my dear?"

"Not bad, just winding down after work."

"Listen, I have a favor to ask. Have you heard from your brother lately?"

"No."

"Then I need you to go over to check on him. He was sick the other week and still feeling it when I left last Friday. I've been ringing up the house for a couple days now and there's no answer."

"He's probably out," Sayoko's eyes shifted from the light fading out of the clouds to the black kit-cat clock on the wall. "Could be busy with school work."

"Probably. I hope so. But really… I've just got an odd feeling about it."

She couldn't argue when her mother had an odd feeling about something. Mum was usually right, and what she was right about rarely turned out to be a good thing. "Alright. I'll stop to the market for dinner too."

"That's a love. Pack a bag, stay the night."

"Maybe I will. I'll call when I get there."

"You do that. Safe roads."

Sayoko swung open the photo-collaged closet door, took out a work uniform along with underclothing and toiletries for the night, all whisked into a shoulder bag. The candles were extinguished and smoking when she removed her asymmetrical cloche hat from the coat tree and fitted it over her shower-wet hair, carefully situating the high curve with a rakish tilt to reveal her right ear, a silver stingray brooch half-concealed in the fabric's fold. With a gray shawl swept around her shoulders she smiled at her reflection and turned out the light.

…

Cye lay submerged with only his knees above the tepid bathwater. The large sunken tub seemed to be less spacious over the last few weeks. He'd given up on finding a comfortable position. His bones ached and his muscles cramped, things he suspected were from being bedridden. The sudden influx of hair was oily and itchy. Under all that greasy hair the skin was somehow dry and often painful; close inspection revealed a rash of micro tears. All around he had become restless. Too many days of sickness, too many fitful hours of broken sleep. His stomach was finally settled, leaving a whole new problem: it growled for food. He knew there wasn't much left to be consumed and he had no energy to make a store run.

 _No energy! You've seen worse than this._ he chastised himself. He'd been battered and broken, bled out and petrified. _You, Ronin of Torrent, have no energy? What will you do, just toss and turn in bed and wait to die?_

 _Die? Stop being so melodramatic!_ argued another side of his mind.

His eyebrows twitched. Usually he found peace underwater. Something about controlling his breath, the weightlessness, the element enveloping him… all soothed him in the worst of times. Currently it did nothing for his condition. The water amplified everything down to the electricity innervating the walls, now his mind. Worst of all was his own slowly beating heart. He could shut down his lungs, but there was the horribly predictable pulse of blood pressure hammering through him.

The force with which he sat up sent a small wave over the side of the tub and into the group of candles burning on the ledge. The flames sputtered out of existence and left him in near darkness. Outside the high windows the fading storm had strained out nearly all of the light, yet his eyesight was crisp. There were no shadows, just varying depths of shade. Somewhere beyond the dome of clouds an early moon was rising.

He pulled the drain plug and stepped out of the bath, using three towels to dry off. Momentarily he felt woozy and steadied himself against the wall. _Stood up too fast with no food in your stomach,_ he chastised himself. _And how long did you go without air?_

Back in his bedroom he found shorts and an undershirt in the dresser and pulled them on as he fanned himself with the notebook, uncomfortably warm with the clothes clinging to him. The water was slightly hot at most and had certainly gone lukewarm by the time he got out, but he simply couldn't cool down. _All this damned hair. Now it's damp._

Another heat wave washed over him and sent him back into the bathroom to retrieve the thermometer from the cabinet. He uncapped it, turned on the display and stuck the metal under his tongue. He'd never liked this. A few seconds passed before it beeped. He read the results: 98.9 degrees. Mere fractions of a degree from optimal temperature, probably not enough to constitute a fever. He reset it, tried again. Same results. Not much he could do right now anyway. Pills were to be taken with a full stomach, and he'd never been one to take medication if he could help it, especially for something like a cold or flu. Though it had started off as the latter he was beginning to believe it was a different affliction altogether. He'd never experienced such hypersensitivity and intense anxiety outside the battlefield.

Heaving a sigh, he cleaned and stored the thermometer while he tried to summon the energy to get dressed. By the time he returned to his room he lay back on the bed and thought of how comfortable it was, and how he really didn't want to leave the house.

So he slept until he heard a lock tumbling back.

…

It was an excessively rainy year. Heavy precipitation was common during these months; however, the weather had been raging for nearly a week in a thunderless barrage. The farmers of Japan were particularly pleased, except those that had the misfortune of owning a flooded field. Even then the prosperous ones in the hills were beginning to worry about their crops washing away as mud slides took out houses and a few lives in particularly steep areas.

Sundown brought a break in the onslaught. A few lingering storm clouds sailed high against the stars and the smell of tide water was heavy tonight.

The little Mitsubishi sedan's windows rolled up as it worked along the road that snaked away from the seaside market. A forested highway and a right turn took the car up a rising private lane past three houses, the first being a small farm, before Sayoko turned right again and up a short looped driveway. She passed the willow tree in the center and pulled straight up to the garage where she shifted the transmission into park, rolled the keys out of the ignition, and started for the darkened house.

It was an ostentatious modern affair constructed with her father's life insurance money, reflective of the plans that Hitoshi and his wife had dreamed of for years. The house was beautiful enough, that she could admit. It was set back from a high cliff, very square, painted blue. Floor-to-ceiling windows graced the front and back of the ground floor while a recessed second floor overlooked the ocean. Unseen from this point was the entire basement level complete with a small conservatory built against the hillside. The sidewalk still looked new and gave the misleading feeling that it would guide guests straight over the edge, particularly on the right days when the whole affair seemed to disappear into the horizon.

To the right of the house stood the large garage painted that same inconspicuous blue. It was spacious enough to house Marina's pottery, Cye's surf boards and sawhorses, a work table, tools, fishing gear, life jackets, the anchor of the old family boat, and room for two cars. Out back a small building contained a walk-in kiln.

A thick oak door dominated the house's façade. Personally, Sayoko had never liked the compromised sense of security when she looked through its glazed panes. Just inside stood the hallway that led straight to a cluster of doors. The first on the left was a small sitting room turned gallery for her mother's favorite works. Second on the left was her old room, now a guest room. Cye's room was settled in the corner. Straight back was the bathroom. One door on the far right wall led upstairs to Marina's room, and the door next to it led into a laundry alcove.

Between the front entrance and the wall of the laundry room the house opened to the right and led to a sunken carpeted living room with two perpendicular couches and a vintage coffee table. Carved high-back chairs were tucked up against a sleek dining table on the upper level next to the rear windows. The wide galley kitchen was centered between them all and led to the back of the ground level. Tables and pictures and knick knacks and pottery were tucked into corners. A little-used deck was squared on the northeast notch left by the floor plan.

From the kitchen, a door led downstairs into short hallway. To the left the glass conservatory was wide, bright by day with a slew of plants large and small arranged around a table and settees. Its glass rear wall gazed in upon the large off-white room set up for Marina's craft: the vital pottery wheel, cabinets of brushes and tools and glaze, boxes of wood ash, lamp lighting, a work table which sheltered buckets of clay, a scatter of ceramics (some of it in service), a clay-stained boom box on a shelf, and a foot-operated wash fountain. A fish pond was constructed into the floor under and around the back of the staircase with six large young koi swimming about. From the hallway one door led outside. Another led to the house's guts. Yet another led to a changing room complete with a half bath. Further down the hall led to the room which contained a cedar soaking tub large enough to fit several people with windows that faced the sea.

There was nothing malicious about the place… yet Sayoko had always felt a pall in the air. It was the house her mother wanted, yes, but it had come at the cost of her husband. After several grievous years spent living in England among the support of Marina's parents (and much to the shock of her Nippon-born children) the fatherless family moved back to Japan and into this house at the beginning of Sayoko's senior year. Not long after came the first travails of the Ronin Warriors.

Those were strange days. Very blurry, much like everyone else's recollection. She did not like to think of those times, for the memory gaps stirred up primal fears. Some safeguard in her brain would not allow her to put much thought into questions about major damage all around the country or government-denied rumors of several military members who simply vanished with their vehicles. Media and eyewitness accounts were distorted and conflicted at best, suppressed at worst. The outside world looked in, too dazed to act. Too dazed to fully comprehend. Trying to account for the lost time resulted in a deep anxiety, a notion that one might start screaming and never stop. Nobody could clearly recall several months, nor could they explain the destruction. At the end of it all nobody remembered that they were missing time. To this day it was maddening to think about.

It wasn't as though the Mouri women knew anything of the forgotten legend until mild-tempered Cye was running away from home waving some excuse about obligation to mystical armor… and then the clouds walled themselves around the world. The grief had been crushing when he was away, that was all either could remember. Exactly how long was he gone? She didn't really know.

Once he returned home she assumed it was finished… until the armor called him away again and again. She never knew anything of what her brother actually did, only that he had developed a strange absent gaze that sometimes crept over him, _through_ him when he thought nobody was paying attention. His reserved nature kept him closed off for weeks each time he returned. Neither Marina nor Sayoko could reach him. In reality they didn't even know what this business with the Ronin Warriors was in the first place. Prior to Talpa's arrival they had been skeptics. They understood it only as some legend pertaining to Hitoshi's lineage from the mighty naval warlord Mouri. They knew it was the cause of the lengthy amnesia, and that it was unwise to question the chaos. Cye simply refused to talk about it.

By the time he made a journey to New York, Sayoko had left for college without looking back. She was all too relieved to get away from the house. For her it was a focal point of the dark times in life. Now as she approached she felt a certain guilt that had been growing these past years. There was a creeping sense that she had abandoned her mother and brother here.

The wind pulled a gray veil across the moon. Under the eaves of the roof strings of shell chimes danced from where they were knotted with fishing line and bells to a long strip of driftwood. The piece was something she'd made for an art project around the time when Cye first left, and they'd been hanging here ever since. It was a pleasant sound unique to this place. She turned the key in the lock, listened for sounds of life as she slipped into the house and removed her hat. No sound above the background noise except for the metallic jingle of her fishbone earrings and the crinkle of grocery bags in the crook of her arm. The faint light falling through the stained glass washed her hair in swaths of blue.

She set the keys on the hall table in the designated dish next. The whole thing clattered loudly in the otherwise quiet house while her eyes scanned what little she could see in the gloom. The entire house was still.

Suddenly there was a sound, barely perceptible, a shift in the silence that suggested movement. Paralysis flooded her motor nerves at the sight of two luminous green eyes staring at her from the end of the hall.

 _++To be continued++_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The central nervous system stalled at the crossroads of fight or flight. She screamed internally and imagined crossing herself for protection when her right hand refused to respond.

"Sayoko? What are you doing here?"

Her own name came stabbing in the dark and engaged her reflexes. She slammed back against the door and scrambled frantically for the knob which she had just crashed into with her hip.

"Whoa, whoa, where are you going? It's me." Cye's voice was oddly distorted, an octave deeper than normal.

"You scared me half to death," his sister relaxed… barely. Recognizing his voice didn't negate the fact that his eyes were reflecting light like an animal. His shadow moved against the navy of the sky through the hallway windows. The silhouette seemed freakishly large to her and it took willpower to not gasp. Base curiosity compelled her to reach for the light switch.

"No!" His tone was so sharp her hand drew back as though electricity had run through her. "I can't stand the light!"

"Sorry." Sayoko composed herself. "Mum rang me up and said she's been calling here for a while. No word from you. She's worried."

"For fuck's sake, really?" Cye growled. "I'm sick, I'm not dying!"

His sister stood stunned. He was not usually given to coarse language and outbursts.

"Well she called and told me to make sure you're alright. I'm just doing what I'm told, so here I am. I thought it might be a good idea to cook up dinner." She rustled the grocery bags for emphasis.

"Oh, thank you! You have no idea what a hassle you've saved me. There's really not much to work with. I've been putting off going to the market," for the first time his voice was kind and gracious as it should have been.

"Uh, yeah…" Sayoko's head was spinning from the uncharacteristic leap of emotions. "I bought tuna steaks and rice. Ingredients for salad, too. Plus everything for a roast. I'll throw that in the crockpot overnight so that can be lunch tomorrow."

"Or breakfast," Cye said wistfully.

"Sure." She switched gears. "Have you seen Dr. Egami?"

"I got into the clinic on Saturday morning. He said it's just the flu. I don't know about that. Whatever it is, it's hanging around."

"Was there anything he could do?"

"Not really. Told me to rest and take lots of fluids, same as he would otherwise. The office faxed an absence note over to the university. Hey, I don't suppose you bought any snacks or anything for breakfast, did you?"

"No."

"Oh," Cye looked crestfallen. "I haven't had much today and it's hitting me now that I'm up and moving around."

"That's half your problem. Go lie down for a while and I'll make dinner."

By now Sayoko's vision had adjusted enough for her to notice his sunken eye sockets and thick facial hair over shadowy cheekbones as he shuffled back into his room and closed the door behind him. Marina's warning rang in her mind. She shuddered.

Turning on the lights revealed a mess of dirty dishes in the sink. She was glad she'd brought groceries; the entire pantry and most of the fridge were stripped. Even the jar of kimchi was gone. As much as he professed to be sick, he had torn through a normally well-stocked kitchen.

She glanced out into the living room. Wrecked. Pillows and heaped blankets were strewn around the couch, three empty water glasses and a mug sat atop the coffee table next to their mother's favorite tea set. Sayoko tidied this all up and wasn't happy when she noticed the pot was still half-full.

"Mum's gonna kill you if this teapot is tarnished," she reprimanded Cye through the closed door. No reply.

She noticed the puke-encrusted edges of a mixing bowl drying next to the trash cabinet as she dumped out the tea and decided to deal with it later. Unceremoniously she picked it up, rinsed it in the bathtub and left it there before she washed her hands and set to work in the kitchen. Eventually when the food was cooking she was left with a lull in time. She went to the living room where she turned on the TV and begin to fiddle with the volume control. It was an attempt to distract herself from the fact that the shadow in that room had been too large to be her brother. It sounded like him, alright, and those were his eyes she saw in the low light. But…

When all was finished she dished up Cye's portion onto one of the many homemade plates, set it on the silver tray next to a large glass of water and flipped the light switch to cut the glare. The wall lamps provided soft lighting while she set the meal on the dining table and turned to get her own helping. "Oi, food's ready!"

Enough time passed for her to consider repeating herself when the door slowly opened. There was the heavy shuffle of Cye's feet in the hall and he stopped just around the corner. He took a breath to brace himself… and then he stepped into view.

Sayoko was scooping rice onto a plate. When she looked up the man standing before her looked so different from her brother, she flinched and sent grains flying around the kitchen.

"That bad, huh?" Torrent snorted when she said nothing.

The shock wore off her tongue. "Holy Mary Mother of God. What… What happened to you?"

"Like I know. According to Dr. Egami, it's just the flu."

"All this?" She gestured at him, indicating the height and the hair growing from his neck onto his shoulders and arms. In fact, the red hair seemed to run all the way up to his eyes. "Did you look like this when you saw him?"

"No, I shaved before going out."

"And he really thinks you're okay?"

"He dismissed it as a growth spurt," Cye shrugged. He hated that term. "If this keeps up I'll set another appointment."

As far as he was concerned, there was nothing more to be said on the subject. He took the food into the living room, settled in among the mess of bedding on the couch with the tray resting on his thighs and drank the broth while he surfed through channels. Nothing interesting was on. At last he settled for the evening news, which was well underway.

A jogger had disappeared into thin air somewhere in Takawa Park, the third person this year. A house fire in Honshu spread its flames to the neighboring structures, resulting in the death of an elderly man. A team of four utility workers had been electrocuted in a freak accident.

Cye's stomach growled insatiably despite the hefty meal he'd just taken down. The dishware atop the tray clattered as he moved it from his lap to the table. He scratched the skin above his knees and glowered at the thickening leg hair. Meanwhile in the kitchen Sayoko had already finished her meal and turned the overhead light back on to prep the vegetables for the roast.

"And now, a bizarre photo from Naruto," the news anchor gave her best perplexed expression to the camera before the screen faded into a picture taken near the bay. The whirlpools raged as always. Further out, a large red rectangle seemed to be superimposed over the water. "Viewer Yama Hoku sent this to us earlier today. He states that it was taken early this morning around one a.m. He noticed it as he was driving home from work and stopped near on the roadside to capture this image. He claims it was visible only from a certain angle and vanished within minutes."

Cye sat straight at the beginning of this piece. He stood up in front of the television, horror creeping through him. "Oh God, no…"

"What is it?" Sayoko looked back and forth from his expression to the titanic red door which seemed to be transparent. It was unsettling, she could not deny it.

"It's happening again."

"What's happening again?"

When he didn't answer her, she knew.

"No!" She balled her fists, the knife jutting from her right hand. "I thought you were done! I thought you did whatever you needed to do!"

"So did I," he said faintly without turning away from the TV. The anchor chattered about what a strange and silly photo it was, trying to put a light-hearted end to the news segment before the weather report. The image appeared once more for good measure, the screen flickering with static just before the show cut to commercial.

 _++To be continued++_


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Notes: Enough with the agonizing architecture details. It's good to establish a background, now on with the story!

 **Chapter Five**

Cye headed into the hall where he slid open the telephone table drawer, fished out the blue cotton-bound address book and opened it at the S tab. The number he sought was right there on the first page, second entry down. He was so nervous he misdialed and had to start over. The line purred in his ear one, two, three, four times while he paced up and down the hall.

 _Something was terribly wrong with the world. He could feel it in his blood. For the thirty-eighth time that day he glanced at the glass sphere concealed in the palm of his hand. He'd been walking around like this with his sweater sleeve pulled far over his fingers since he first retrieved it from its place atop the brass monkey of a miniature clipper model in his bedroom, terrified that people would noticed its gentle blue glow through anything less than flesh and bone. It was a large marble, though not exactly that. It was soft and plastic yet sturdy. The kanji_ _Trust_ _ran through the middle like a stroke of ink, and if you stared at it long enough you would swear that it moved. It was actually quite good for playing marbles and he considered it lucky until he began having strange dreams centered around it. A destructive streak had once possessed him to claw it and try to crush it with both hand and foot and finally hammer, all to no avail. Exactly how he came to own it was another story altogether._

 _It had been glowing faintly since last night when he woke up in the late hours, supposed it a dream and went back to sleep. Here it was now glowing visibly even in the rays of the sun._

 _And then there was the news breaking in to interrupt TV broadcasts. The outstanding piece was a seemingly new weather phenomenon of black clouds forming over many of the major cities. Meteorologists argued among themselves whether it was a system of storm clouds coincidentally gathering intensity near the cities or an unexplainable darkening of smog. Normally he kept abreast of world events with apathy; there were bad things happening all over the world as they always had and always would. Neither explanation would surprise him. Clouds were generally not a major threat, certainly not worth cutting into normal programming unless they were preparing to unleash hell. It appeared that they were going to do just that._

 _He stepped outside and looked toward the city. Indeed there was a hive of black clouds, not purple-black or gray-black as people sometimes use to describe earthly storms. No. These were blacker than the smokiest fires, blacker than nightmares. They appeared to swallow the light around the city in a dark halo._

 _Meanwhile the orb, as he'd come to call this alien thing, was pulsating radiantly in time with the sea waves. He could feel the cool crash of water. Horrifying though it was at first, he was lulled with each surge._ _Trust_ _…_

 _Without thinking he pressed his palm against his forehead, soothed by the cool glass. The feeling seemed to rock through his body and he swayed back and forth with the tidal volume of his lungs roaring in and out. Time was lost to him until he felt water run over his brow, into his eyes._

 _Examining the orb revealed that it was in no way damaged. In fact, it continued to glow rhythmically stronger than ever. Cautiously he touched his forehead, which was still dripping with water. There was a texture change in his skin that his fingertip nerves interpreted as a mix between scar tissue and an ice cube without the cold temperature. He slowly traced the pattern, suspicious that he knew what it was. Another wave broke on the rocks below._ _Trust_ _…_

 _Water was running from the cup of his hand. The orb seemed to shed little waves as it propelled him in the direction of the cliff. His breath was slow and steady as he crossed the rocky backyard toward the precipice. There he could see the waves washing not in their normal directions but toward the city. Above the horizon clouds formed from nothing and swept toward the skyline. Leaves on the coastal trees swayed sideways as the storm breathed in to build its power._ _Trust_ _…_

 _Nevermind that strange chant he heard coming from the orb, now he could hear words in the waves. Armor… of… Torrent…_

 _Armor of Torrent? He strained to hear._

 _Armor… of… Torrent… Dao… Shin…_

 _The sea repeated itself again and again. He felt a tide of power rushing in. In the water below a titanic wave broke and sent a spray of water straight up the cliff. Without any input from the higher levels of consciousness he called out, "Armor… of… Torrent! Dao shin!"_

 _All at once a white light flashed and he screamed, terrified that a bomb was flashing over him. There_ was _a bomb of sorts as the sensation of seawater rushed through every fiber of body and soul. The light did not burn him alive as he feared, and when it had faded enough he opened his eyes and saw a strange afterimage of cherry blossoms showering down._

 _Seemingly nestled among the waves was a sleek blue armor floating in midair several feet beyond the cliff, just out of his reach._

" _This has got to be a dream right now," he said to himself. "If it's a dream I could just walk out there and get it."_

 _Only it didn't feel much like a dream aside from the glowing marble and the last five minutes' events. Besides, walking on air generally didn't work in the dream world either._

 _He'd seen the thing many times through invasive thoughts after he first discovered the orb. At last he could let the real thing fill the gaps in his imagination. He could look at this armor without any watery distortion and appreciate its design without any overt shift in the subconscious world to direct his attention elsewhere._

 _The torso plating looked solid enough to deflect any blow with curved shoulders and legs. A dorsal blade crowned the streamlined helmet. A blocky face guard filled the void and gave the armor a misleadingly human appearance. A tanto was sheathed at the left hip while the right hand steadied a foreboding pole weapon. At first he thought of a pitchfork before he remembered seeing this in a book of feudal weapons: it was a yari._

" _CYE OF THE TORRENT." A disembodied voice demanded his attention. He whirled around and nearly lost his footing._

" _You have been chosen as a Ronin Warrior," the voice said. It was masculine, young and old at the same time, brimming with authority. Another remnant of his dreams. "This armor of Torrent possesses all the power of the sea. With it you and the other four armor bearers must battle the demon Talpa. He is trying to invade your world."_

" _Demon? What demon?!" Cye could believe that this was the truth, given the circumstances. He simply could not imagine what to expect._

" _Trust in your armor to carry you through…" the voice was already fading._

" _What do you mean?" he shouted, turning this way and that._

 _When there was no reply he raised hand toward the samurai suit again. The whole thing vanished in another burst of light, and when his vision righted itself he realized he was inexplicably wearing a form-fitting shell of plating the same blue and white as the armor. He knocked his knuckles against the chest plate, mystified._

" _Go now…" the voice was more distant than ever._

 _He was racing down the lane when the family car turned off the main road. It was Marina and Sayoko on their way home from a shopping trip._

 _His mother rolled down the window. "Where are you going? Is everything okay?"_

" _I have to get to town," he ignored the second question._

" _With that storm blowing in? What's wrong?"_

" _I can't explain," the new bearer of Torrent shifted restlessly on his feet._

 _Marina had been having one of those bad feelings again all day, and the weather didn't help. She felt herself trying not to panic. She screamed, "Cye, what is it?!"_

 _Sayoko watched with her jaw agape and back against the passenger door. Her mother rarely raised her voice._

 _Cye considered just running off and explaining later. His feet turned to go and he stopped himself. "Look, do you remember the Ronin Warrior story that Dad told me a few times as a kid?"_

" _Not really," Marina was bewildered. "What does that-"_

" _It's not just a story. I've been chosen as a Ronin Warrior."_

 _She stared, unable to process, as a disbelieving smile started to form._

" _I don't know what it means and I really don't have time to explain. Just go home and stay there, alright?"_

 _Marina started to get out with the car still in gear and go after her son, who had already started to back away. It rolled forward and she sat back with a foot on the brake and nasty words directed at the vehicle. "What's happening?! Cye!"_

" _I said go home and stay there!" He screamed. When she stared in stunned silence he dropped his voice. "I'm sorry. I love you both."_

 _He turned and ran._

Cye squinted at his reflection in the hallway mirror. No virtuous spiritual brand burning on his forehead. Not yet.

In a little house in the town of Fujiyoshida, Ryo's answering machine rattled its greeting. By the time the record function clicked in he was very nearly shouting, "Ryo, are you there? Pick up!"

Nothing.

"…Fine. This might be important so I'm gonna try you at the station."

He hung up and resorted to the next number on the list.

At fire station no. 4 the bells of a wall phone rang loudly enough to be heard throughout the entire building. Ryo was in the middle of doing bench presses and didn't concern himself with getting up until one of his coworkers called him over. He wiped the sweat from his face and ears with a towel before taking the receiver. "Moshi moshi?"

"Ryo! It's Cye!" the voice on the other end sounded a bit breathless, not quite right.

"Hey Cye, what's happening?" the de facto Ronin leader tried to keep a lighthearted tone to his own voice, knowing full well that the water warrior rarely called unless something was wrong.

"I was watching the news just now. Somebody down in Naruto photographed one of those doors that showed up when Talpa invaded."

"A door, huh?" Ryo put his back against the wall and scanned the room to make sure none of the others were listening in. "I haven't felt anything."

"Neither have I, not in regards to that."

Wildfire could sense that wasn't all to that statement. "Oh yeah?"

Cye continued nervously, "There _is_ something happening to me but I don't know if it has anything to do with the armors."

"What do you mean?"

Torrent had been trying to articulate his thoughts long before he ever made contact with his comrade. Now that he was on the spot the half-formed words fled. He stalled with a series of "um" and "ah" sounds. Ryo took that time to reach into his pocket and withdraw Wildfire's orb. In times of crisis it could become quite hot, sometimes complete with bright crackles of flame and the odor of smoke. Now it was cool and still.

"I've been sick and I'm not quite sure if it has anything to do with what's going on now. Look, I don't know if I can explain it. You'd just have to see for yourself."

"See what?" Ryo was genuinely confused.

"If there's a possibility that we'll be needing our armors, shouldn't we all meet up and talk so we're not all calling one another trying to coordinate?" Cye changed the subject, immediately sorry he'd brought up his own health concerns.

"Sounds like a good plan. If nothing else it will be good to have everyone together. It's been a long time."

"Right. If we're going to do that, can you make it out here to my place?"

"Wow, you really must be sick," Ryo's reply wasn't an outright yes.

That comment dug at Cye, who snapped, "Are you able to make it or not?"

Ryo held the receiver back and looked at it. "Yeah. My shift doesn't end until eight in the morning. I'll drive up then, is that okay?"

"Sure," Cye shifted back to his normal docile self. "I'll be at home all day."

"Have you talked to the others yet? Do you need me to call anyone?"

"It's okay, I've got this."

"Are you sure?" Wildfire asked. Just as the words left his mouth, a pattern of alarm tones sounded throughout the building and dispatch came on over the PA. Car accident, extraction equipment necessary.

"Yes."

"Sanada! Let's go!" One of the other firefighters raced by.

"Okay. Listen, I gotta run. Literally. I'll be there when I'm off work, alright?"

"Right. See you tomorrow."

Ryo had already hung up. He got into his gear and double checked for proper equipment before he settled into the fire engine's rear seat. The rig went screaming out of the building, and as Ryo swayed in the passenger seat he wondered what the future would reveal.

…

Cye knew Kento's number by heart.

A spacious courtyard house stood with its high walls concealing the inner buildings among a neighborhood of modern suburban Yokohama homes. A massive iron-rich boulder painted with gold leaf stood next to the steps to mark the address number. Surely there would be someone home, and they wouldn't mind him calling so late. The line picked up after the second ring. A gruff voice answered, "Rei Fuan's Crematorium. You kill 'em, we grill 'em."

Further away from the phone a man yelled something. Cye knew enough Mandarin to understand it: "Answer the phone the right way!"

"Rei Fuan residence," the younger voice was much more formal, perhaps a touch over the top. "How may I direct your call?"

"Hello, Mei Ryu." He had listened to the whole exchange between Kento's brother and father with a knowing grin. He pictured them: both with pale skin and amethyst hair, the youngest of the three Rei Faun boys now 15 years old looking very much like brother Hardrock. Papa Chan Run was stocky with a bearded face and thinning hair, and was probably parked in his favorite armchair now that the family business was closed for the night.

"Hey, Cye!"

The water Ronin didn't waste any time. "Is Kento there?"

"'Fraid not. He's been working with cousin Jiro for a while. Want me to give him a call? Or do you want the number?"

For a moment he wavered between the options before reasoning that he had other people to call. "If you've got the number, please let him know. The sooner the better."

"I'm on it. Peace out, my man." In many mannerisms the boy was just like his older brother. He hung up without waiting for a reply.

Torrent stood looking at the phone, unsure of who to call next. Halo or Strata? He decided on the latter and looked up the phone number. The line rang and rang in a dark high-rise apartment near the Sengoku campus until another answering machine picked up. "This is Rowen, I'm out right now so leave a message."

The shrill recording caused Cye to hold the phone away from his ear. "Hello, Rowen? …It's Cye. Call me back."

…

On the outskirts of Yokohama, Kento was sprawled out on the couch sleeping the exhausted slumber of a man who works construction from sunup to sundown. The phone ring didn't disturb him. He didn't stir until his cousin shouted over the snores, "Hey, wake up! Mei Ryu's on the line."

Kento shifted from having his legs draped over the couch's arm to a side-lying position and waved away the receiver. "Tell him I'll call him back later."

Jiro was a year younger, recognizable as kin to Hardrock with the barrel chest and blocky features. He tied back his thick coal-black hair with his curved eyes focused on the televised baseball game as he relayed the message and listened to the reply. "He says Cye tried to call you. Sounded urgent."

At this Kento bolted upright and took the phone, nearly knocking his empty dinner plate off the end table in the process. "When did he call? …Yeah, I know his number. Thanks, kid."

He freed the line and began to punch in the Mouri number with considerable force.

…

On the east coast, Cye had already flipped forward to the Date residence's listing and dialed out. The number rang over and over, and he began to wonder if he would connect with the others before he had to take action. But _what_ action?

The line clicked and an older male voice answered, "Good evening. Date residence."

"Oh. Yes, good evening," Cye stuttered, realizing that he had been drifting. "This is Mouri Cye. Please forgive give me for ringing so late. I'm calling to speak with Sage. Is he in, please?"

"Just a moment."

The phone muffled as it was set down. A lengthy minute passed before it came back up. The skin over his knees was itchy again. He scratched savagely, very irritated with this new inconvenience.

Out in the dojo Sage was finishing up notes regarding students' progress, trying to ignore the tangible charge that had been building in the air all day. Each class had been quite unruly: poor form and tempers all around made for a bad day. He lost control of himself once and resorted to yelling when a sparring match became a dirty fight. As a result the two opponents were doubly shamed with banishment from the floor for the day and extra cleaning responsibilities.

A crackle of static rippled up his neck and through his ears just before the phone's first ring shattered the silence around him. He disliked being sensitive to these things. With a sigh he stood up and was passing the property's torii when his grandfather spotted him.

"There is a gentleman by the name of Mouri calling for you," Date Nori was a wilted, bald old man, master of the dojo. His appearance and slow movements were subtly deceptive, for he was perfectly capable of shattering a man's sternum before the charging opponent could take a breath.

"Thank you, grandfather," Halo bowed before he followed into the house where he waited a moment to take a breath before taking up the receiver. It went against his pride to appear rattled. "Moshi moshi."

"Sage, it's Cye."

An apprehensive pause and nothing more. This didn't sound much like Cye.

Torrent continued, "I was watching the news just now. Somebody got a picture of a Dynasty gate."

The Dynasty actually had little to do with the gates aside from utilizing them for the invasion, but the word was enough to galvanize Sage. "Where? Has anything else happened?"

"In Naruto Bay. It was just on the local news."

"Isn't that where you were when Talpa first scattered us apart?"

"…Yes. That's all I know. I can't sense anything but it still has me worried so I've been calling anyone. Ryo's the only other person I've reached so far and this went under his radar. Is everything okay there?"

"I have to admit, I've felt something like a storm in the air all day."

"Do you think… it's Talpa?" Cye was audibly nervous.

"It doesn't feel that same as when Talpa invaded, if that's what you mean."

The water Ronin processed that. "Is there any activity with Halo's orb? Nothing here with Torrent."

"Just a second," Sage went into his room where he kept the sphere in a boxy rice paper lantern hanging from the ceiling. It appeared to be simple green glass but could be quite luminous in the presence of evil. Now it was dark. He held it up and peered at the kanji Wisdom by the light of the rising moon in the window. There was a faint glow in certain curves which he attributed to a trick of the light, not the electric flashes he felt when evil was afoot. "Nothing."

"I still think something's up. It's just too early to tell." Torrent sighed and collected his thoughts. The one Ronin whom he could confide in was cool, collected Halo. "Nothing's happening with the armor so far, though I've been going through some weird things myself. It's like the flu, except the symptoms hit come in waves. Normal enough, right? That's what the doctor said. Well… lately I look different. Not quite right. I see it; I can't lie about it."

"Different?" The Ronin of light prompted.

"Taller. My face looks different." He stared at the back of his hand, trying to sum up the condition. "My skin is strangest of all. More hair. You'll just have to see, that's all I told Ryo when we spoke. We both think it would be best to meet up in person and discuss what's going on. He agreed to come here to my house. Can you make the trip?"

"I can leave first thing in the morning, so long as nothing happens between now and then."

"Sounds good, get some sleep. If anything changes I'll call you." The call waiting beeped in Cye's line. "Do you have the address?"

"I believe so."

"Then drive safely. Call if anything comes up or if you need directions."

"Right. Good night."

…

Cye switched lines. "Moshi moshi."

"Hey dude, what's up?" It was Kento. The exhausted water warrior ran through his explanation again: news, door, bad omen. He chose to withhold the bit about his health concerns. At the end he could hear how much this had wound up the earth Ronin, who was very nearly shouting, "Well let's go! If Talpa's coming back to town he needs a welcoming party!"

Cye rubbed the bridge of his nose. He knew the risks of giving Kento any Nether realm related news. It invariably ended with Hardrock trying to blindly charge off into the void. "Nothing's happened yet. The door is just sitting there. I don't know about you, but when Sage and I spoke we hadn't noticed any activity with the armors."

"Hang on, let me check with Hardrock." He got up and sauntered over to his backpack. From the depths of a hidden pocket he removed a drawstring pouch. Within were several favorite stones and a large orange marble. It was slightly cloudy, carnelian in color and solid as granite. In times of war it rumbled like a tiny earthquake. Flaws deep in the structure caught the overhead light and cast the word Justice. "Nope, not a thing."

"Keep an eye out just the same. Ryo and Sage are going to meet me here at my house tomorrow."

"I'll be there too! What time?"

"Ryo's driving up after his shift ends at eight and Sage will be on his way first thing. I expect they'll be here late morning."

"What about Rowen?"

"I called but didn't get a hold of him. Sage said he would try calling. One of us will get through." Cye's train of thought unexpectedly switched track. "Hey, can I ask a favor?"

"What's that, buddy?"

"When you drive up will you stop and grab a box of donuts?"

…

Halo turned on the muted TV set. The late news wouldn't be on for over an hour, and he couldn't be sure the Naruto gateway would even be featured on this station. He picked up the phone, called a number, listened. Rowen's machine ran through its message and beeped. "Rowen, it's Sage. Call me or Cye."

The phone now back in its cradle, he sat with his eyes closed and mind adrift. He was exceptional at detecting the subtle energy signatures in an individual's bioelectric field to the point that he could sense a person's identity without seeing, hearing or even smelling them. He was also quite perceptive at reading people through their vocal patterns and body language. Though it was difficult to do over a phone line (usually a feat he considered nearly impossible) the distress in Torrent's deep, fearful voice had been dripping out of the earpiece like syrup.

Sage was aware of his own power. However, he was unsure of how well this next endeavor would work. He was good at projecting his energy, but such a great distance seemed absurd. He drew a breath and immediately dropped down into a meditative state. It was there in the ether of his mind that he could feel the faint ripples in the universe. These waves had centers, and the image of a rock thrown into a still pond flashed by. Where were these centers? One was in Naruto, but here he had no perspective of where that was on this level. Halo let himself drift on, knowing he could not force an answer that never arrived.

After a time he realized no further knowledge would be gained from meditating tonight. While his mind began to merge back into his body he sent out a message. Sometimes the universe could be described in waves, sometimes it could be described in strings. Mostly it could be described among a million other ideas. It was often just a matter of knowing what system to use. He pictured his best friend: tall, lanky, somewhat absent-minded under all that blue hair. The lost Ronin. Halo imagined a bolt of ethereal lightning striking up from the crown of his own forehead into the network of the universe: a psychic signal flare.

The meditation left him feeling strangely exhausted. He unfolded from lotus position and laid back flat, the rug just warm and plush enough to be comfortable. By the time the late night news broadcast the pictures from Naruto, Sage was fast asleep on the floor.

Until a warm crackle of light worked across his vision and tingled into his forehead. He sat up, looked at the clock and decided to call Strata's residence again.

…

The air of the indoor archery range was stale, colored yellowish green by the buzzing florescent lights. A shirtless Hashiba Rowen stood with his toe on the line and an arrow in hand. Once kyudo practice was over and his teammates left for the night he wriggled out of the uniform top and folded it back around the waist.

A slow breath steadied his muscles as he set the bow, drew the string taut and lined up the target. Tonight's groupings were sparse in comparison to most performances. No real excuse for that, he chastised himself. But these last few minutes he was overwhelmed with a cerebral feeling akin to déjà vu. It was as though he should expect some oncoming disaster, or maybe something more subtle. Maybe it was just somebody talking about him. He shook the cloudy thoughts from his head and concentrated on his aim. Just as he began to relax his fingers a jolt of electricity fired through him so harshly the arrow soared past the target altogether and rebounded off the concrete wall.

Rowen stared first at the wildly vibrating string, then at the slice of skin that had been stripped in the misfire still hanging limply where it attached to his left forearm. The act was so quick and shallow he saw the aftermath before the adrenaline-delayed pain registered. At last it came on in a slow burn as blood seeped to the surface. Surely there would be a deep bruise by tomorrow.

He hissed through his teeth and set down the bow, decidedly done for the night. It had been years since the air Ronin injured his arm with his own weapon. He took a quick breath with the strip in hand, then tore it away from the healthy flesh to be disposed of. The wall-mounted first aid kit in the locker room yielded alcohol pads along with gauze and tape for dressing. He tended the wound and retrieved his gear, stashed it away in a hall locker.

Outside the east entrance a lone bicycle was chained to the rack where a shower of summer leaves fell around him as he spun the lock dial. By the time he pedaled home through the humid air he was sweating. His original plans included a slice of pizza and a late session in the biology building as he had reasoned that he needed extra time to study the cellular slides. The anatomy professor liked him enough to trust him with working in the lab at any hour of the day, be it two hours before the first morning class or eleven at night. Certain inner doors were left open to him and a few other honor students, each armed with a key to unlock a side door from the outside.

Now a shower and proper bandages were necessary first. When the bike was once again secured he hiked up to the ninth floor where the wind was stronger and cooler than it was on the ground. The ringing phone could be heard in the background of the breeze. He unlocked the door and rushed in with a back kick to close the door as he scooped up the half-charged cordless phone from the kitchen counter.

He hazarded, "…Sage?"

Halo wasn't at all surprised. Instead he asked formally, "How are you?"

"I'm fine," Rowen glanced at his arm. "What's up?"

"I just heard from Cye. He said he tried to call you."

Strata noticed the flashing message light for the first time. "Uh huh. I just walked in the door."

"He said there was a news report with a picture of a Dynasty gate."

"Oh, hell," the archer said flatly.

"I missed the late report. Hopefully they'll have the story here in the morning, but he said it was being treated lightly."

"Like a UFO sighting?"

"Or a video of Bigfoot. I imagine if it is mentioned again it will be a fluff piece. Nobody's panicking, so that's good. There's no activity with the armors yet either, but we're all meeting at his house tomorrow just to be cautious and discuss it in person. We'll be keeping an eye on things in the meantime." Halo conspiratorially cupped his hand around the mouthpiece. "Just between you and me, Cye sounded pretty concerned about himself. He was pretty vague in regards to what's happening."

"Yeah?"

"I'm pretty sure that's why he wants us to go there rather than call Mia and use her place as a meeting point. He didn't sound like himself."

"Wonder what that's about. I guess we'll find out tomorrow. I'm gonna give him a call back and get directions to his house."

"Right. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night," Rowen hung up and looked to the list of important phone numbers listed on the fridge before dialing Torrent's phone number.

Immediately the receiver picked up. Cye had been pacing ceaselessly ever since he helped his sister tidy the house and was left with nothing to do but eye the television nervously when he wasn't circling the house's wraparound deck. "Moshi moshi?"

"Hey buddy," Rowen said casually. "I just talked to Sage. He says we're all meeting at your place tomorrow?"

"Yes," Cye was relieved that he didn't need to recite the situation yet again.

"When?"

"I suppose we never agreed on a particular time. Everyone else is driving up in the morning."

Rowen's first class tomorrow didn't start until ten, too late to keep the other Ronins waiting. His forehead creased as he pondered what to do. He had never missed a day the entire school year. The assignments for all classes were done except for those cellular lab essay questions. If he got a quick shower and a change of clothes he could get to the pizza parlor before closing time, finish that lab assignment, pack a bag, catch a few hours of sleep, call his professors' offices early in the morning, turn in his homework and excuse himself for the entire day, then get out of town…

"Rowen?" Cye called him back to reality.

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I'm with the others: if it's not the end of the world right this instant I'll be on my way in the morning."

"Fine by me. I feel like I've said this three times already, but… if anything happens I'll call you."

The air warrior laughed. "That's because you probably really have said it three times already. Okay, now I need directions. Hang on, I need to grab a pen and paper."

He grabbed the writing utensils and took down the instructions along with a copy of the phone number in case he got lost. After giving the directions Cye asked leadingly, "I don't suppose Sage said anything else?"

"About what?"

 _Quit the naïve act_ , Torrent wanted to say. _You two can never keep a secret from each other._ Instead he got to the point. "There's something strange going on with my health. I don't feel like describing it because frankly I don't know how. I just don't want you to be surprised when you see me tomorrow."

"Okay, I'll try not to be," Rowen controlled the curious urge to ask questions. "Thanks for the warning, I guess."

"If anybody needs a warning and didn't get one, it's Kento."

Together they laughed at the idea of the excitable Ronin. There was an edge of uneasiness in Cye's laughter.

Rowen trailed off first. "Say, is there anything I should be worrying about?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Then I'm gonna let you go so I can get everything in order before tomorrow."

"Perfect. Good night."

"Yeah, good night." He hung up and looked over at the mess of a desk. Above the chaos was a small shelf which held Strata's silent orb. He picked it up gingerly, for it had the plasticity and delicate texture of a bubble, though he knew it was indestructible. When the armor called to him the orb put off a small draft and sounded like a howling storm at the worst of times. The character Life was invisible. He held it up to his ear. Silent.

After checking that his homework was in order Rowen started up the shower. He carefully peeled off the taped gauze and his clothes, stepped into the shower and yelped in surprised pain when the hot water flowed over the raw skin.

…

The telephone was finally silent. With a bit of luck there would be no late night calls. Perhaps he could rest for a while, though he had little hope for that as the increasing hypersensitivity was bothering him on many levels. The television's low volume was strikingly clear to Cye's ears even as he stood at the end of the hall. He scratched the top of his thighs again and tried to think of why he was so itchy specifically there. He'd been sitting with the silver tray in his lap while he ate dinner, but he'd done that more times than he could remember with no contact allergies.

A monstrously large aloe plant occupied a crock under the hall window. In the strained light of the moon it appeared to be some otherworldly creature crawling out of the pot. Cye broke off one of its smaller arms. He slid down against the wall next to the plant until he settled on the floor. With one long, sharp thumbnail he split the leaf down the middle to dig out the flesh and mash it into the skin above his knees. When there was no more aloe juice he used the leaf's spines to scratch at his skin until he very nearly bled.

 _++To be continued++_


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes: This chapter contains a few paragraphs with graphic details in regards to animal sacrifice. Consider yourself warned.

 **Chapter Six**

Evening fell around the heart of the village. Tents and wagons were lit for travelers to set up camp, forming a spackled ring of light around the Nether Realm's little city. Dogs barked, herd animals bellowed, all nervous in their separation from familiar ground. On the outskirts Lady Kayura hummed quietly as she approached the bathhouse with the staff ringing proudly in time with her step. The preacher's son had gone his own way once they passed below the cemetery's main arch, its sole lantern casting their shady silhouettes onto the separate paths.

Now that she was alone the absent-minded habit of singing rose from her throat and was caged behind her teeth. There were people around, some of whom considered it bad luck to hear the undertaker sing. Though her voice was beautiful, it didn't help that many of the notes were comprised of a language that nobody could identify. Even she could no longer understand the childhood words which were like stones from another shore that was her life before Talpa, words which were now mixed with the strangulated vowels that she had retained from her days as a paranormal vessel. Thus she was regarded with the same wariness that sailors gave to mythical sirens. She bit her tongue and stopped humming.

Song was the one shred of her mind that kept her together as a human being during her years of possession. When her body wasn't in use, when it wasn't training or battling or channeling or being their plaything, it was left in a little heap in her own dark little room. It was then that Badamon allowed her conscious mind to surface for a while, just enough to reflect on the things her body had done while she was absent. Kayura saw horror at her fingertips and could not look away. A circle of ghouls chanting around her. Two blades, long and sharp, guarded with gold curves. Body blows. Blood. Fear in all its forms. Further back to her last day as a free girl, when they had taken her from a tent that reeked of burning flesh and hair. Somewhere in the void behind her eyes that was her own private universe, she learned to conjure streams of sound to distract herself from the things she'd done. Sometimes she was allowed enough connection between mind and flesh to sing, particularly when the dwindling flame at the core of her existence threatened to disappear in a whisper of smoke.

She stood tall as she hurried down the street. Sometimes she wished she could walk along in the shadows to avoid the nervous stares just as the other Warlords could. This ringing staff drew attention, for one thing. She liked it well enough, as it often wrote music in her head. She just didn't feel right carrying it around as a mark of office. Being the last of the Ancients was quite a difficult task when your clan and their wisdom had been slaughtered before your eyes.

Still, she was powerful. She knew what it was to be an open channel for terrible energies. She knew the legend of the great scale upon which the nine Ronin armors were created. Her education as a wise woman consisted of traveling around on occasion to shadow other clerics and learn the virtues of all religions, being mired in an entire way of life for a few days or a week at a time before being sent on her way back home to the graveyard with nothing more than a head full of scripture. She was summoned to give blessings over feast animals through ought the countryside, appearing for births, marriages, deaths, and the celebrations in between, though new parents often regarded her warily. Often they made warding gestures when she crossed their path. Every so often she took up work helping farmers or smaller families tend their property. She was welcomed warmly enough at most gatherings and always guaranteed a meal, but she always felt awful at relying so heavily on others' charity.

In the down time she tended her garden and traveled off her land to hunt deer with a small bow when necessary. It was a task her tender heart did not enjoy. She liked all living creatures, particularly the cemetery animals. The local deer were all familiar, hence why she traveled far for hunting. The crows had a precise schedule and woke her each morning with their cawing. Part of her earnings went toward purchasing seeds for the songbirds. Someone's pet cat liked to visit every so often to stalk the little birds and argue with the squirrels. Small snakes liked to sleep against the sun-warmed headstones when they weren't after rodents and the occasional insect. Every so often a toad came hopping through the grass. Hawks rode the thermals that often formed beyond the potter's field during the heat of the day to zero on their quarry. Owls called out as they woke in the trees each night.

It seemed to Kayura that they were acting strange tonight, most of which she chalked up to the buzz of people and their trail of crumbs. The birds fought one another over the course of the day, even the songbirds. Does had taken to head butting one another. The crows had been particularly feisty with their claws and were still awake this late in the day, pecking at grave goods. She thought of the food sitting on her front steps and hoped it wouldn't attract a rat problem.

That might explain why a foreign hawk dropped out of the sky and landed in a low branch where it sat staring at her with red feathers running in diagonal stripes around its eyes. She remembered seeing birds like this circling over the boundless pastures near her old home once or twice. Her father's face had faded from memory long ago, but she could still hear his voice. _Make a wish when you see this hawk and he will carry it up to the gods._

The image of a certain blue-haired archer flashed across her mind and the wish was made before she could stop the thought. The hawk blinked at her, leapt with flapping wings and flew up into the deepening night where it crossed one of the moons and was gone. Movement caught Kayura's peripheral vision. Looking down, there was a wing feather whirling delicately as it sank in the air. She caught it before it touched the ground, inspected it briefly before she smiled and stepped on with the embers of an old dream glowing in her heart.

The bathhouse was busy. Town residents had already been through today, now it was restricted to those who were officially part of the festival affairs. Two teenage girls, already bathed and blessed in their white robes, stood with burning sage at the entrance for the women's side while two teenage boys wielded the mystical smoke while the men passed into their side of the building. A crowd of latecomers like herself were queued up, giving her a moment to take in the strange faces all around her. As she scanned the line of men the gap between two travelers wavered ever so slightly, enough to make her wonder if she was having a visual disturbance. There was a shift of colors and lines very much like the eyes spots seen after looking at sun glare on the water, yet this phenomenon was confined to the very distinct shape of two men.

 _Perhaps those are spirits_ , she thought. _After all, isn't this what the festival is about?_

Kayura stepped through the smoke and removed her hat. In the side room she removed her shoes and disrobed as she modestly swept her knee-length hair over her shoulders. Her clothes and staff were handed over to be cleansed along with the feather. She stepped down into the salty bath with calculated steps to hide her nudity and sank up to the shoulders, her hair fanning out around her body like a cloud of ink. Always hesitant about communal bathing, she stared critically at the water before dunking her head. She had forgotten how much warmer it was than the stream near her house, warm enough for her to stay submerged with goosebumps rippling pleasantly across her skin. Eventually she turned up for a breath and drifted with the water parted around her face .

The night was full of ghosts, or so everyone said. She'd been to several meetings among the other clergy and elders in preparation for the festivity. There were legends among multiple cultures stating that the veil between worlds thinned when particular cosmic events ascended. Three moons crossing certainly was a cosmic event to be considered, thus the great collaboration. Even now she could hear two altar girls across the pool, their voices amplified through the water as they spoke of the favorite meals they helped prepare in anticipation of deceased family members making a visit. Kayura tried to tune out the sound of their chatter and was grateful when they finally got up to leave. Her ghosts lay in the past. She wished to leave them there.

A percussion of heat thumped the air as the bonfires were lit and voices rose in a single cheer. The other festival women had all left to attend, just as she should have. That meant missing the opening speech being belted out by the town leaders. She was fine with that. Even the attendants and the sage girls crowded near the curtained door opening toward the town square, leaving her to soak in peace.

When she finally rose from the water she was greeted with towels and a sacred oil blend applied over her heart, which she found faintly unpleasant with its overpowering flowers and spices. Furthermore, she did not care for this part of the ceremony that included being touched by a stranger, even if it was a bathhouse maiden. Her robes smelled of holy smoke as she slipped them around her body and an attendant folded the sash. Her hat and shoes strapped into place, Kayura stood with the silent staff, the crowd's roar building as the attendant braided a side lock and wove the end around the feather with fine ribbon and stone beads. To conclude the ritual, the maiden walked in three clockwise circles with another sage bundle and wove a cone of protective smoke up around the Lady, who watched patiently. When the monk was completely dressed and blessed she handed over a coin as a contribution the building's funds and bowed to the attendants.

The dragon dance had already begun by the time she emerged into the night air. Saffron silk had been painted and stretched over a wooden frame to form a head lighted with flame taken from the pyres. From here she couldn't see exactly how, but incense billowed from its nostrils. Two men led the way with the head resting on their shoulders with a women trailing behind and working the jaw with a lever, all with their clothes dyed and skin painted to give the illusion of shimmering blue scales. Lanterns trailed back as each person bobbed along in a line, the dragon's tail growing longer and longer as the lights circled around the town.

Kayura was given a red paper lamp to denote her status and hung it from one of the staff's wings before the tail passed by. The last person in line, a woman with a faint purple tint to her skin, relit the large ember-tipped firewood from her lantern and handed it off to Kayura, who lit the lamp and fell in with the parade.

…

Two identical forms moved as shades among the headstones once the groundskeeper had gone, the staff's rings awakening their senses them from the land of the dead.

When the silver-haired traveler walked he swung his arms as though he did not quite know what to do with them, the movements visible only to his companion. He had lived once, then again over a thousand years later, but he had never grown accustomed to walking without the gilded staff now in Kayura's possession. Though he could have chosen to manifest himself closer to town he chose not to disturb the forces of the universe, instead leading them through the veil of hallowed ground.

The other figure swaggered with his shoulders pulled back and chest puffed in his habitual warlike gait. He followed the elder to the bathhouse and stood among the line of men, somewhat impressed when nobody occupied the same ground which they stood upon. Kayura's curiously drifting eyes landed on the empty space and narrowed.

"She can sense us," Anubis remarked, his voice rough as a jackal's bark like always.

"Yes, but she cannot yet see us," Kaosu replied, his voice lacking the authoritative boom here in the ether.

The pair stepped through the smoke into the men's division where they began to undress. Both took in the scent of sage, its odor among one of the few strong enough to infiltrate this plane. It drove away the weaker dark spirits, for they could not stand the sensation. The monks left their clothing on empty hooks near the egress doors, the spaces once again going unoccupied. Neither spoke as they settled onto separated ledges in the bath, for both were grateful for the sensation of hot water after a lengthy interval without it. To Anubis' amazement his skin and hair remained dry in the water. After all, this was his first time being dead and he did not quite understand how things worked at the crossroads of existence.

When they were again dressed and outside the dragon spiraled through the streets. Kayura was already stepping in time with the line with a lantern hanging from one of the staff wings. Kaosu and Anubis stared for a long minute at the staff's fortified gold sphere glowing faintly enough to go undetected in the realm of the living.

…

"What?" Dais couldn't believe his ears.

"I said there's a gate in the water lands. Can't you see it from there?" Cale shouted up from the street.

"Hold on," Dais climbed out onto the roof and scaled the peak where he could look back to see it over the rooftops shimmering like a heat mirage. "It's there but it's not doing anything. Stay there, I'm coming down."

Once downstairs he lit the paper lantern that he'd specially prepared with a collage of vibrant paper and stepped out to lock the door with the Warlord of Corruption standing at his back, who remarked bitterly, "Maybe there is some intelligence in what these superstitious fools are chanting about."

"I do not question their customs," Dais said diplomatically, aware of his own superstitions.

"This means we will have to find Kayura and Sekhmet."

"It is doubtful Sekhmet will be here. He dislikes crowds too much for this. However, if he sees the gate - and I'm sure that will happen - then he will seek us out. Kayura will be around here somewhere. She has some part in the rituals."

Cale snapped his fingers, remembering: "She'll be there for the slaughter. If the snake hasn't shown himself by the time we've fulfilled our obligations I will ride out to his homestead and drag him back. Let's go."

"She's probably a part of that," the spider demon pointed at the people filing along a parallel street. The two walked in silence with their eyes trained on each passing face, their ears keen to the sound of the ringing staff. They were too late; she was further ahead in the line. The tail of the parade wandered by: a young man wielding a small candle within a hollowed, caged turnip hanging from a stick. Dais held up his own lantern and looked at Cale. "I'm joining in. Are you?"

The demon of darkness simply stared at his comrade.

"I didn't think so," Dais said as he walked away. "Go ahead then. You can lead your horse into the side yard where nobody will bother him on the condition that you clean up after the beast once this is all over. Let us meet at the oak tree after the bloodletting."

…

The dragon dance ended another twenty minutes later when its head settled onto a stone pedestal near the eastern fire where a priest threw in a cluster of fireworks. Sparks and explosions cracked, carried up into the heavens by the heat draft while the lights of the dragon's bodies scattered out into the crowd.

Now that the parade was over Kayura wedged her lamp's bamboo pole between a couple tree branches and left it there to light someone else's way. She could see just fine between the moonlight and the thousands of flames all around.

A small barn was alight and bedecked with flowers, its doors open to reveal a row of stables with three cows being pampered by festival attendants and passerby alike. They had been driven into the stalls at midday and had since been grazing from the overflowing troughs, happy to deal with the attention in exchange for a bounty of food. One was brought forth from the pen. Kayura glanced at the barn where the others were kept; mercifully the other two could not see the madness out here. The last of the Ancients said a prayer that they could not hear what was about to happen.

The cow happily paraded past the line of people. At first she had been uncertain about the sea of humans but was now enjoying the pets and boundless food. Kayura reached out to touch the nape of the cow's neck, which brought the creature to a standstill. The two stared at each other for a moment, and knowing this trusting soul was about to die, the Lady felt such a profound sadness that tears flooded from her eyes before she could blink.

This puzzled the cow. She had not seen any other human do this. There was also a strange presence about this one no matter how nice it was. The other humans were nice, too. And so the cow moved on. Kayura trailed her fingers down the creature's spine and stepped away.

 _I'll be one of the last people at the end of another life. Of course,_ she thought bitterly as she wiped the tears from her face.

The crowd was suddenly less dense as many mothers with young children had allowed them to stay up long enough for the lighting of the lanterns and were now wisely putting them to bed now in order to miss the ritual. They did not dare expose the impressionable ones to this.

Morbidly curious onlookers were scattered around the main group. The vestal virgins laid a large canvas on the altar ground for the men to lift the fallen body. Others were waiting with knives, among them the Warlord of Corruption. Cale, who had cut the throats of her clan. Cale, who had taken her at his will time and time again. Cale, who was staring stone-faced at her right now.

Kayura set her jaw and lifted her chin proudly, refusing to break eye contact even when a lingering tear fell unchecked. Seconds passed. She wondered what was going to become of this staring contest when his mouth moved. She was unable to hear him over the general roar and unable to read his lips, so she shook her head and shrugged. He tried once more, and again she failed to understand. It seemed she would have to actually talk to him. She'd hoped to avoid contact with the other Warlords during the festival. That usually worked on a daily basis, but on a night like this a collision with the past seemed almost inevitable…

Cale was beginning to push through toward her when a gong sounded near the eastern fire. This was a sign to give final thanks and prayers. The circle was full of bowed heads and chants. The young girl with the gauze-draped deer antlers protruding from the cottony violet hair made her way forward with measured steps and a silver knife held high on her palms. The dancing firelight reflected in her terrified eyes.

 _Poor thing,_ Kayura thought angrily. _She's just a child and she's part of this mess._

The butcher took the long blade graciously and bowed to the girl, who returned the gesture. They straightened and everyone turned to face the moon. They bowed as one in a voiceless rustle, then turned and bowed toward the blissful bovine.

There was a moment's hesitation. Kayura shut her eyes and was left with the afterimage of the blade nearing an innocent throat. The drum tempo picked up and the prayers elevated from chants to shouts. There was the softest sound of metal piercing flesh, and a weak, watery lowing lost among the rising human screams.

Cale never batted an eyelash. He watched the butcher sink the knife nearly to the hilt before making the slash across the throat. A slew of clergymen rushed in to catch the precious life force in burl bowls. They ignored the stains on their clothes and skin; rather, they took it as good luck and traced bloody sigils on their cheeks and foreheads. When the arteries had released their strongest pulses the cooks stepped in with their own bowls to catch blood that was to be used in the communal food. Soon he would be needed to help cut apart the carcass once the creature was fully dead and drained of all its blood, which required it to be strung up from its rear hooves over a vat. He still had time to catch Kayura, who had scampered away with the staff lowered during the frenzy.

 _She retreated at the pivotal moment. Typical weak-willed girl,_ he sneered. _She never would've harmed a soul if it hadn't been for Badamon. Obviously servitude under Talpa never changed her._

He shouldered through the crowd, getting close enough to the religious ones to establish that she was not there before moving off again and actively exercising his talent for seeking that which was hidden away… yet he found nothing. No sign of the girl, not even that overbearing staff. And then in the space between dancers Anubis stood grinning at him, his elongated eyes turned up with the expression. Cale stumbled and caused the person behind him to step on his ankle. He growled at the inconvenience, his eye flickering away only for a moment. By the time he looked back Anubis had vanished.

The cow wavered now, its oxygen-starved legs unable to move despite the motor nerves' last desperate efforts. The flower crown fell from their place atop the horns as her head bobbed and she cried out one last time, all the while surrounded by chants and outstretched hands that caught her when she finally fell to the earth.

…

Dais scaled the large oak on the northern side of the square with a thick, looped rope which he wound and knotted in calculated patterns around the branches before he threw down the extra length. The local rope maker standing below the tree took another lead and tossed it up to the old Warlord's waiting hands while the three young men dragged over a wide, deep vat stained with blood. Now that first blood had been spilled several festival goers were slaughtering for the communal meal. Lots of carcasses to drain and dress had the Warlord scurrying through the trees.

The fire was much brighter here, and the air much hotter as the breeze wafted smoke into his lungs. It was not simply bonfire smoke, it was also the boundless burning sage and other holy herbs along with the stench of so many people. Soon the odor of charred flesh would be in the air as well. The prattling voices and the music grated at his brain despite his festive mood. Yet another headache was building up, and the night was just getting underway. He'd suffered many since his liberation from Talpa, perpetually aware of the poorly healed trauma deep in his skull from the strike that had cost him his eye. He'd never truly realized how much his armor of Illusion kept the pain at bay until he had to live without it.

"Did you find her?" he asked when Cale approached.

"I found her, yes, but she ran like a frightened deer. Coward." He spat. "Once I've hunted her down I must hitch up the horse and find Sekhmet."

Even with the foggy headache the spider demon sensed their comrade moving across the web of the world. "I propose that we wait. He'll show up. You know how slowly he can move. Perhaps we'll find the girl in the meantime. Why don't we have tea and watch the show while we wait for the meal to be prepared? We can see the gate from here."

Cale sniffed at the heavy odor of blood in the air. He was already hungry from butchering the cow; this only roused his appetite even further. The entrails, feet, and inedible organs would be offered up to the gods with certain prime cuts of meat and the first arterial bursts of life force. Already it was beginning to smell richly of burnt flesh and bone. The rest was divided up for a number of dishes, much of it simmering now in a stew. Its aroma mixed with the stench of fried blood on the altar and sent a pang of saliva prickling over his tongue. "That is an excellent idea."

…

A pair of rabbits were eating blissfully in the far end of the garden. Sekhmet had spotted them upon leaving the house and moved fluidly on the opposite side of the vegetable plot, kneeling behind the plants to conceal himself until he was in place, then slowly rose into position with each hand around a knife hilt on his belt. The rabbits munched away unaware of the predator creeping in the leaves. They would make a good offering and a contribution to the feast. There were two glints of light, an animal scream, and blood spreading into the dirt.

The scarecrow watched him gather the bodies into a burlap sack from where it was stuck into the first deep soil deposit that marked the boundary line. It was all knotty sticks and vines and twine dressed in worn-out robes. A painted sack stretched over an old broken bowl resembled a battered skull with the previous tenant's low-brimmed moth-eaten hat holding it together. Sekhmet made a new scarecrow every few years when the old one dilapidated and sagged into a heap. He was fond of it. It never frightened away any animals, but it had turned away a human or two.

A long path lazily worked down around the hill past the jags of rock, running alongside a system of tiered basalt that he liked to climb for fun. He had crawled up it hundreds of times and could feel his way around without the moons, but tonight's light was so crisp he stopped to admire the tiny glistening facets of stone. There was the sound of water now as he made his way over the series of stepping stones across the stream that fed into the main river south of the bridge. The three crescents pierced the clear, cool water and he could not help but stop for a drink.

Tents were set up here in these fields which were otherwise avoided. Unattended fishing poles equipped with bells stood upright in the mud of the western bank. Small fires crackled as some families cooked and bedded down for the night. Somewhere a violin played sweet, sad notes one at a time. Somebody spoke in a language he did not understand, and there was a small group of laughter in response. He moved among them in the dark, undeniably bothered by this infringement upon the buffer zone between civilization and his home.

A wide river ran north to south and served as the western city limit crossable by a stone bridge further upstream constructed just over a small yet lethal set of falls. A slurry of natural debris washed through and was caught up in the rocks, then battered by other flotsam until it could break free and float over the edge, damming up water in the process. Idols gazed out into the rapids from their places on the riverbanks. Here people were hustling around on the dark, wet rocks with only candles to light the way. Bottles were held out to catch some of the waterfall for good luck. Up on the bridge, the posts were littered with locks and knots as lovers from both near and far left their little tokens of unity to be symbolically carried away over the water. He stepped aside quietly when an older man came jogging across the wooden deck and straight past him without a glance.

A stream that flowed from the east through the southern neighborhood gleamed with candles in the little waxed paper boats. At the confluence the boats tipped and bobbed in the opposing currents. Occasionally one capsized or extinguished. A group of children sat at the point and cheered them on. Beyond them the town was a spiral of activity as the great dragon zigzagged through the neighborhoods, gathering fire. The gate stood motionless over it all, drinking in the spectacle like a cyclopean eye.

The air was vibrating. Sekhmet felt it in the hollow of his chest as he neared town. It was the pulsing music, the rise of voices, the steady current of lamp-lit people that he'd been watching since the hills, and it only got stronger with each step. He did not like it.

He kept to the side streets as much as possible in order to avoid passerby. He held his hood securely over his eyes as he pushed between crowded shoulders to deliver the rabbits for the sacrificial meal before continuing back through the alleys toward the south side of town. The tallow man was busy with his shop alight to sell candles and soaps while his wife hurried pails of donated fat into the back room for refinement. Bands of minstrels disjointedly plucked at their instruments or sang as they moved through the streets. Once Sekhmet crossed paths with a troupe of performers and startled a juggler badly enough to disrupt the boy's seven ball routine. As he passed by a small lit tent next to a wall he glanced up long enough to see a large gilded sign. At the sight of the pictographs he looked away again and started to hurry past. Just then he heard a voice call out, "Excuse me sir, would you like a charm for good luck?"

He very nearly kept walking before curiosity got the best of him. Cautiously he peered into the tent. Inside was an old man robed in a yellow silken robe, his eyes obscured with thick glasses and his neck laden with trinkets. He tapped a small artist's brush on a palette of earthy paint and smiled wide. Two large candles stood burning on the ends of the table. "It takes only a moment and a small coin. Everyone could use good fortune tonight."

Sekhmet took a breath and stepped inside. With his shoulders squared back he folded down the cloak's hood and bowed. When he stood upright he stood with a neutral expression, awaiting judgment. The flicker of recognition was magnified by the glasses, and the look nearly sent the former Warlord stepping backward out of the tent. But then the man's expression shifted and he gestured to the empty chair with the same smile. Sekhmet sat down, trying to discern whether the invitation was one of genuine kindness or if the man was like prey trying to casually go about its business in the presence of a predator.

"So, what will it be? Prosperity? Health? Fortune? I know an array of religious symbols, depending on what you're looking for. Some things you'll have to see a wise man about. Plenty of 'em around here tonight."

The Warlord of Venom considered his options. What would he need in a possible journey that he could not foresee? Flashbacks of his servitude and the anger rotting him inside out swam through his memory. "I wish for strength of heart."

The old man's straw-coarse beard contorted as he thought. Then he dipped his brush into a glob of blue clay and began to paint cool, ticklish lines on Sekhmet's forehead. As he worked he explained, "You wear the mark of the lotus, which has the strength to grow without land and withstand a storm. It is the symbol of resurrection and rebirth. Sacred blue, for extra luck."

The Warlord of Venom thought about this. "Thank you."

He looked around the tent as the man mixed in a touch of green and black. There was quite a collection of shiny trinkets hanging from boards on all sides. Some things he recognized, many he didn't. His eyes landed on a pair of long triangular brass earrings. The gentleman with the paint brush was admiring his work when he noticed Sekhmet's eyes focused behind him and followed his gaze.

"All of this jewelry you see here is for sale," he said, inspecting the fine steel hooks in the customer's earlobes. "I'm afraid these in particular don't have any mystical meaning. They're just a nice set that I picked up on my travels."

Sekhmet looked at them for several seconds before he began to barter. The exchange was simple: two copper pieces and a jar of arnica salve for the old man's aching knee to be delivered tomorrow. With a grateful bow he stepped out and hurried down the street, very nearly running to make up for lost time.

…

Dais looked him over as he let him in through the kitchen door. "All painted up to high heaven, I see."

"The first words you say since we last met two months ago," Sekhmet remarked as he followed his host through the lengthy hall that separated the house from the shop.

"I believe it's been three," Dais volleyed.

"Have you seen the gateway?"

"Yes. Cale is already here; he brought the news."

"What are we going to do?" Sekhmet ran his hands through his hair, restless now that he was in the company of fellow hellions.

"Nothing yet. Let us discuss this with upstairs."

They ascended the stairs and crossed the lightless bedroom to the window through the curtains and shutters out onto the roof where they found Cale perched on the edge looking ugly as ever with the orange light tripping across his face and an empty bowl in the gutter at his feet.

"Good evening," he was cordial without turning to directly address his old comrade. The Warlord of Corruption could smell the snake demon long before he could see him. Typical. In the old days the man cared little about hygiene and after so long it seemed the essence of evil seeped from his pores and from the recesses of his armor. Now he was clean enough, but he smelled of earthy oils that made Cale's nose wrinkle just the same. "Obviously you've seen the gate."

"I would not be here otherwise," Sekhmet conceded as he settled onto the tiles.

For the first time he gazed out at the festival. Their position on the rooftop offered an unobstructed view of the bonfires. There were three of them; from the distant hills they appeared as one. The eastern and western fires had each been bitted with swinging arm which supported kettles for boiling water and. The middle fire was bare, consuming its sacrificial gifts with no more ceremony than the prayers the humans chanted as they made their offerings.

There was a crowd of festival representatives, if such a term was proper. Really it was an amalgamation of spiritualities and religions. Here were monks, elders, firewalkers, nuns, druids, priests. There were dancers from every culture, some of them creatures he did not recognize, all gilded and tapping their feet nervously. Similarly, each group had its own set of musicians. A swarm of attendants rushed about adjusting costumes and fetching drinks of water.

The procession of officials began in the east and circled around thrice, the procession led by three women held high on litters. They had been chosen to embody the maiden mother crone trifecta associated with the moons.

On the foremost litter sat a girl nine years of age with a pair of gauzed-draped deer antlers affixed in her long lavender hair and a white dress covering her form. Benelcci Paz was selected for her quiet and sweet nature along with a certain seriousness that made her trustworthy for such solemn duties.

Behind her was the visibly pregnant Emitsi Ruko, clothed in modest gray, chosen among the other expecting mothers simply because she seemed the closest to giving birth and therefore considered luckiest. As this was her first child she was already uncertain about any given moment in this portion of her life and, as far as she was told, it would remain that way for the foreseeable future. She was introverted by nature and quietly loathing all the attention she and the child were receiving. Currently she was trying her best to conceal her nerves and nausea induced by the assault on her olfactory senses and a jostled ride around town.

Nisk Ossa had been a farm wife before she was taken as a field slave for the Dynasty, and was now sitting with shoulders and facial features pulled back in quiet dignity, all else draped in black. She had certain bitter wisdom and tenacity of mind that kept her sanity together in the darkest days. These traits that earned her a place among the other women of honor.

The platforms circled around to the a special portion of the stage dedicated to their seating where attendants helped the trio up to their gilded chairs.

He had already missed the proper opening ceremonies which included speeches from the stage constructed on the north side of the circle, laying torch to the woodpiles and the bloodletting. Currently it was an intermission of sorts. Many citizens of the Nether Realm were disguised behind masks of the Venetian or Noh varieties, and each Warlord thought of the security he once found behind his armor's war mask as he people break away from the crowd to throw in their own offerings. A man took his sword and sliced off a lock of hair. A rather heartbroken-looking girl hurled a handful of dead flowers and turned to stride away without looking back. A woman with a hand-painted skull mask sat quietly by the fireside, gazing mournfully at a knit baby bonnet for a while before surrendering it to the flames. Some people looked rapturous as they dropped in scraps of paper, some were mournful as they let the parchment fall from their finger. Chewed fingernail were spat. Healthy plants and luscious fruit were sacrificed. To Sekhmet's amazement some people approached with animal guts and heads and feathers.

"The gate has not moved, nor has it given any indication of activity. It will, but we have time yet. I maintain that we wait," Dais situated himself near the wall where his window jutted out from the roof. With a flash of his hand he plucked a moth from the air, rubbed the scales of its wings and threw it into a nearby spider web. Alerted by the vibrations, the web's resident rushed out from the corner and moved in to wrap up its gift. "Besides, what can we do until then aside from be prepared?"

The Warlord of Venom inclined his head. "I suppose you are right. It is simply irritating to know I must strike but not when."

"It appears that we are the only ones who are able to detect the gate's presence right now. There's not a single whisper about it out there," Cale gestured at he common folk being herded back for the next portion. He considered telling them that he saw the dead Warlord of Cruelty before he dismissed the idea. The last thing he wanted was to be laughed at for letting his imagination get away. He shut it out of his mind, and so when he looked down into the street and right at Anubis once again he didn't see him at all.

All three Warlords flinched as the rhythmic clang of gold chimed. A sharp voice rose through the alto register and kept climbing into the soprano range, the dialect immediately recognizable.

…

From the start they had been aware of the muzzy energy enveloping them within this plane, and now it was receding as each sense grew stronger. The various kinds of smoke, the distinct smell of animal death and searing flesh sharpened in their noses and caused their mouths to water for the first time in years. The chorus of instruments and voices was both calm and chaotic to their ears with its measured beats opposed to the flood of street conversation. The dirt clattered faintly beneath their shoes and they felt each footfall. The Shinto shrine's tree branches whispered and gasped as the prayer slips fluttered in the breeze. Colors grew brighter, and up here on this level they could see the vivid range of differences in each fire's hue, the heat radiating into the which were only now beginning to materialize.

A line of belly dancers shimmied before the crowd. Anubis watched as they moved between people, silently thanking heaven for the sight of dancing women after such a long sleep in the grave. Once they neared the southern side of the town square he heard the other Warlord's voices and turned his attention to seek them out. As they moved across a street the three living Masho came into view atop a roof, each face anxious.

His path strayed toward the shop until he paused just below their feet and was wondering if he could get their attention when Kaosu appeared at his side to guide him away. "Come, it is nearly our time."

…

On the eastern edge of the ring Kayura stepped up to the fire and cleared her throat nervously. The music's tempo pounded fervently, the drummers rolled their mallets to back the fiddlers who sawed and jabbed at their instrument strings. Everyone danced in the space before the stage, many in synchronized groups, some stepping with their own dance. She dipped and whirled around as the impulses directed. Hers was one of the few not choreographed, same as the nonsense words that were trying to form in her mouth.

Many people were singing along to the folk music while others were occupied with making up their own songs. Those who did not sing were often busy praying or conversing with friends. Nobody would pay attention to the gravedigger girl.

The notes flowed out slowly like honey, soft at first until her voice began to gain an edge with confidence. On the third pass around the fires her feet slowed to a halt as she stared into the flames with steam billowing from her damp hair, mind disconnected from corporeal self. By the time she realized what was happening it was too late to stop. She could only watch from outside herself as her mouth opened and her voice rose in a cry:

" _S'yeht'eh bha wuu_

 _E'yah yai poi-t'wan, syeh'mah'n woi'yeh_

 _Oweh'a syeh'can uu-wuu!"_

From outside her body Kayura thought, _Oh yes, speak in tongues, draw attention to yourself. Wonderful._

There was discord in the percussion as the scream caused some drummers to miss their beat. The choir was derailed from its song in a clash of mumbled voices. After a hesitant moment a flutist raised his pipes and answered the chant with a string of piercing notes. The flow of dancers moved around the monk as she swayed on her feet. The entire staff glowed from its contact point in the dirt up through the gold wings, its central sphere casting the most light of all. The music went on as the percussionists did not dare interrupt the Lady of the Dead, but the other dancers came to a standstill.

The Ancient clan's ancestral chi thinned the mortal walls as it reached a crescendo with burst of light from the staff, harsh white and inescapable. Kayura looked around, aware of the curious stares upon her, only to see Kaosu and Anubis standing side by side before the fire. Yet their shoulders overlapped and they stood as one spirit.

"I do not like those words," Kaosu's voice was audible only to Anubis. "It is a dark and dead language."

"What does it mean?"

With their minds linked Anubis heard the translation in his head. "It still makes no sense."

"It does and it does not."

The Warlord of Cruelty had to chuckle at the ambiguity. "You really try too hard sometimes."

…

"That's not good," Sekhmet remarked as Kayura's song still echoed around them with his hand held up to shield his slitted pupils.

"Horrid light. What is she doing?" Cale squinted at the motionless girl, trying to pick up any movement.

"It appears that she's talking to someone," Dais' vision was keen enough even with the light piercing through his headache. "Wait… Is that…?"

…

"Tell me you're just here for a visit like all the other souls," Kayura's tone toward the apparition was laced with hostility.

"We are here to warn you of the danger closing in." Anubis was the first to speak.

"Cye of the Torrent grows weaker by the day, and stronger at the same time," Kaosu said. "His armor is being drained of its power. Subsequently, it is taking his life force with it."

There was one silent and baffled moment as her mind processed the news. "What's causing this?"

The silver-haired Ancient answered. "It is the void from which Talpa was created, the force he used to gain traction in the mortal realm, that which held you in bondage. It feeds on the negative elements: pain, anger, fear, greed, hatred… and now it has found a way to feed on Torrent's essence. If it manages to drain him of life, the balance in the world will be shifted."

"If Cye dies, you shall be weak enough to be conquered," Anubis summarized.

"Why Torrent? Why not Wildfire? He is the most powerful."

"You have just said so yourself. He is the most powerful, too strong to be brought down now. This is simply fate."

Frantically she asked, "And what am I to do about it?"

"You must find the way, Lady Kayura," said Kaosu.

"What does that mean? You can't just throw this at me and then be so vague!"

There were dark shimmers in the light behind them. Her eyes darted and saw half-formed faces much like they were in her memory. Her voice faltered, "…Mama? …Papa?"

The fire grew brighter around the premonition of the Ancients, or perhaps they were beginning to fade.

"The future is as clouded for us as it is for you…" Anubis's voice was losing its volume.

"Please don't go!" Kayura shouted.

The sphere lost its light. The shifting shades had already dissipated. Her shoulders slumped in defeat and she looked over the crowd of murmurs and pointed fingers to see the three Warlords locked onto her from the rooftop. One by one they jumped down and started forward. With a sigh of resignation Kayura made her way to the edge of the crowd and waited, held her staff high.

 _++To be continued++_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The pure gold light of the Ancient staff faded until it was as luminous as a dying ember, leaving Kayura stunned. She stood alone on the edge of the clearing, holding herself upright and looking embarrassed by the hushed crowd's attention. She could see the town elders making their way over from the stage, leaving the festival women who sat upright in their gilded chairs to watch over the situation. She only had moments to pull her mind together out of the haze as she realized mayor Lerion was approaching fast.

He was a burly middle-aged man with dark mutton chops gracing his jowls. His voice was gruff as he demanded loudly, "What's going on here, Lady Kayura?"

She stared at him blankly, suddenly struck with post-vision aphasia. When she made no reply he stamped at the ground impatiently. "Well? You spoke just a moment ago!"

Whispers stole around as the crowd parted wide for the three male Warlords. When the undertaker remained dumbstruck Dais stepped forward into her field of vision. She looked quite sharply at him. He turned to the mayor and explained, "Sometimes she loses her voice after she speaks with the spirits."

"Is this common?" Lerion asked accusingly.

"Not anymore," was all Dais had to say. He turned Kayura toward the fire and waved his hand in front of her once to cast a shadow and awaken her senses. "Breathe, girl."

She took a breath and let her voice out in an exhausted groan. "Torrent… Anubis and Kaosu warned me…"

"Anubis?" The Warlords exclaimed in unison.

"I knew I saw him!" Cale thought aloud. The other two looked at him.

"Warned you of what?" Lerion urged.

"They spoke of the dark forces… The forces that created Talpa… They said Torrent grows stronger and weaker at the same time…" she tried desperately to piece together the warning.

"What was that, Lady of the Dead? What ill fortunes will you bring us?" A tall, balding man stepped forward impatiently with a finger pointing at them and his eyes squinted. The crowd chorused in agreement.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," Kayura shook her head fiercely as though the answer was rolling around somewhere in the fog of her mind.

"You'll have to figure it out, princess," the man sneered. "We're not going back to the dungeons because of you!"

The energy in the air was quickly turning sour as another malicious cheer went around. Sekhmet stepped behind her and turned while Dais and Cale flanked them until they were all back to back.

An old woman stepped out of the crowd and ground her heel into the dirt between herself and the four Warlords. "I lost my husband and son to you monsters! I don't even know what you did to them!"

"Which one of you captured me?" a middle-aged man was still impossibly thin after so many years of malnourishment.

"Tell us, Lady Kayura! What dark forces are coming our way?" someone else screamed from the back.

When she hesitated yet again a general roar began to build as everyone turned and grumbled to one another.

"How dare you all!" A woman's voice rasped. A small figure pushed forward into the clearing where she placed herself in front of the Warlords. Madame Chirinobi pulled backed the vibrant hood of her cloak to reveal fiery red knot of hair. Her worn face crinkled as her mouth riled up into a snarl. "These people have done nothing to you since the demon freed us all!"

"They will be the first ones to fall if evil comes our way!"

"They are demons themselves!"

"Have you forgotten that your husband died under the cruelty of Talpa and these beasts?"

Cale and Dais glanced at one another. The townsfolk seemed to be regaining memories from before the liberation, or perhaps their distrust was flaring with the eclipse. Some things time could not erase.

"No!" Madame Chirinobi shot back, her eyes narrowed. "They were in hell far longer than any of us! If hell comes back for us they are the only ones I could trust to guide us out!"

This argument momentarily dispelled any opposition. The woman took this moment to cross over to the bewildered Warlords. Just then someone said, "So what will you do, Lady Kayura?"

The monk looked around, feeling all eyes on her. She still didn't quite know what to make of the Ancients' apparition. But she had to say something, anything to appease the crowd. "I shall prepare for a fight. I shall watch and wait, though I shall pray for peace."

That seemed to work. People glanced at one another, unsure if there was anything else to say to that. Lerion diverted their attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, let us return to the festivities! The stew pots are still bubbling, can you smell it? Go fetch yourself a helping! Now, will the Harmon dancers kindly take their places?"

The musicians were instructed to restart their last piece of music and a tribe of feather-clad dancers took their places in the dirt.

"Have you seen the gate?" Cale asked Kayura, relieved to finally get the question out to her.

Her eyebrows furrowed together as she shook her head. Her path to town was lined with trees and she'd been too absorbed in the festivities to notice.

"There is a Dynasty gate in the water lands," Sekhmet said.

"Then we must go to it," Kayura. "I don't know what we will find there but what else can we do?"

Lerion turned back to Kayura. "Well girl, what is the plan?"

Her eyes flashed between her comrades' faces. No sense in alarming these frightened humans, she knew better than that. "We will retreat from sight for now. Best to watch from a distance."

He nodded. "If something is happening I want to be the first one to know."

The monk nearly rolled her eyes over the little power trip. Instead she smiled sweetly. "Yes, mayor."

Once they had retreated into the crowd they made their way toward the clothing shop, Dais and Madame Chirinobi leading the way.

"My horse is tied up in the courtyard," Cale slipped ahead and rounded the corner to retrieve the animal. He mounted up and trotted out. Kumo stepped nervously, not exactly happy to be left around so many people and loud noises. "We'll go to the ranch and prepare horses to get us out there faster."

"I only hope these people don't get riled up like that again," Madame Chirinobi looked down the street. "A panic is the last thing we need."

"Agreed," Dais said.

"Go now. And tell me what you know when you've returned," the redhead waved them off.

Cale and Kumo kept the lead, galloping at a slow speed while the other Warlords raced to keep up. Once Kayura tripped over her robes and staff and went crashing down to her knees in the mud. The Warlord of Darkness circled around on his trusty steed, laughing. With one hand on the saddle horn he leaned over and scooped her up by her obi and plopped her down behind him as she wriggled and kicked. Once she was no longer in danger of falling off she punched Cale's shoulder blades and struck in the upper arm with the staff for good measure.

"I don't need your help," she shouted with her thighs clenched as she grasped at the seat's leather to keep from falling off.

"Then keep up, little one," he cackled as the horse galloped on.

…

Once everyone was prepared they rode out to the water lands, the horse hooves kicking up sprays of mist as they tore through the floating lilies. The monolithic door towered over them like a mountain as they drew near. Once there they dismounted and walked slowly in front of it.

Dais walked around the corner and glanced at the other side. It faded into nothing. Nobody dared to touch it, for that would make it truly real.

Kayura looked up and nearly fell over as a head rush overtook her at the sight of blood red reaching up into the sky. She was unsure how much of her terror was from the evil that crept through this door and how much was from old memories.

Sekhmet stood rooted in the mud, his eyes unfocused as the nerves of his feet sensed a subsonic frequency. It was drawn out and his brain attuned it to a snake's hiss, but it wasn't that.

"Now wh-" Cale started.

"Shut up!" The Warlord of Venom held up a silencing hand. It was rhythmic. He thought of hills, rises and falls. Or… "Do you hear the ocean?"

…

With all energy spent in the séance the two dead monks lost their footing in the Nether Realm. The spiritual veil dropped, leaving them senseless. Kaosu sought out Anubis' spirit on the periphery of his mind and lent enough energy to bring the man back from the fringes of existence.

"Quickly, gather yourself. This is not a safe place to be."

Anubis concentrated on speaking until he could form the words. "Where is this place?"

"We are between planes. We as humans might refer to is as non-existence." The elder stopped speaking and let his consciousness drift into the velvety silence of the darkness around them. There was a source of heat somewhere around him, he couldn't be certain if it was above or below, left or right, before or behind him. This place did not work that way. He concentrated on the warmth. The longer he held it in his mind it became a white-hot needle. He began to walk toward it, and with the sensation of moving his feet he was keenly aware of a fine, cool stream flowing around his feet like a thick mist. "What we seek is this way."

Kaosu felt the current pushing forward with each pace. "We must step lively. Time does not flow evenly between worlds. When one minute passes in another world, days and months and years can slip away on Earth. Your demon Talpa fed on many energies, a primary source being time. You, Anubis, lost over 500 years in his service."

The former Warlord of Cruelty could not fathom that. Time stopped making sense long before he was dead.

Kaosu continued, "This is where the heart of evil sleeps but never dies. It is so vast we are nothing more than shimmers in the dark in its perception. It is more than a god: one entity yet it is many separate beings, and in its slumber it whispers in a language older than the stars. Kayura was possessed by its tongue."

"Is she in danger?" The younger was concerned for the cruel armor's fate nearly as much as he was for the girl.

"No, she is merely a messenger." In the shared spectrum of their minds' eyes Kaosu summoned the image of a dowsing rod turning down. "It is Torrent they want."

"You never did answer Kayura properly when she asked why it is Torrent."

"This great dark force, that which is sometimes called by the collective name the Old Ones, takes notice of the bright shimmers in the dark. Mortal creatures with great power are like fairy lights to the Old Ones. You and I are strong and it is necessary that we step lively. The humans gifted with the Ronin armors are also such creatures, and it seems something has taken a shine to Cye of the Torrent. The power of water waxes and wanes with the moon. It changeability is what allows them to tap his life force."

"Then why is this Nether Realm festival so important? Why not the Earth's moon?"

"Consider that on Earth the moon creates two high tides: one in view of the moon, one on the other side of the planet. The Nether Realm and Earth are very similar as two opposing but closely linked points in the universe. When the tide rises in one world it rises in the other, and it is this eclipse that turns the tide. There are the five Ronins like a beacon in one place and the four seasonal armors in another with a nothingness in between which spawned your former demon master, and it seeks an entrance in that space. Unfortunately it has already begun. Just as we would go mad looking upon it, it hardly understands what it means to exist in a tangible realm because it rarely finds a way to manifest itself, but when it does the consequences are beyond the most repulsive things man has ever experienced. If it is successful we will find ourselves opposing something like Talpa, or worse. That is why we must find a way to restore the balance."

The invisible heat source had lost its white-hot edge and now radiated a benign warmth around them. The Ronins were nearby. When Kaosu and Anubis stopped the current raged all around as though it wanted to sweep them away. Now all they had to do was find the way in.

 _++To be continued++_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Cye slept little that night. He attempted it sometime past midnight when nearly every channel had either signed off the air or taken to broadcasting infomercials and he realized he hadn't really been watching anyway. His mind was too busy looping through past battles and apprehensions about the future. In the darkness of his room he rolled around fitfully trying to find a comfortable spot for a while. The bed smelled sickly and while his body was protesting that it had rested enough, he didn't have the drive to get up and change the sheets.

At last he settled into troubled dreams filled with blood sacrifice against a backdrop of fire. He awoke feeling charged with an anxious energy. The faces in this dream were much clearer than the last. They filled the darkness of his room, their grinning mouths moving in a chant and their eyes boring into him with a pointed bloodlust. Then the darkness dissolved it all until there was nothing left but the moonlight against the curtains. He lay there barely breathing, not daring to move. When the inner voice of reason reminded him that he was safe he drew a deep breath and shifted again in the uncomfortable bed.

Serpentine light crept from under the curtain's hem onto the carpet. He watched it sneak across the carpet for many slow minutes, enjoying the faint hallucination of rug fibers shifting and dancing. Eventually he grew uncomfortable again and opted to get up for a while.

The smell of the simmering roast in the crock pot had become irresistible. The steam that rose when he opened the lid made his mouth water so much it stung. The meat was running with fat and juice. Gleefully the Ronin of Torrent took a large bowl from the cupboard and all the right utensils for carving and eating a large chunk. He ladled broth and vegetables into the bowl, resettled the pot lid, then mashed some of the potatoes to thicken the mixture as it cooled to consumable temperature. He stepped out onto the deck where the air was warm and breezy with the receding tide, his jaw hanging open in amazement when eyesight crisply focused in on every distant detail without his glasses. There was the juxtaposition of the occasional stirring branch in the field of trees, the endless march of waves beyond the coastline, the life moving below the surface, the nearly motionless sky. The moon dominated all, including her warrior, who turned his eyes up to stare at her shadows and scars as he ate greedily. When the food was gone he set the bowl on the railing and assumed a horseman's stance as his meditative breathing cycle began. There the energy rocked in his body until he swayed like a reed in the wind, finding peace in the soft light against his eyelids and the humid breeze that soothed his lungs.

By the time he felt his body grow heavy he opened his eyes to watch the thin, low clouds gather into a bed of sea fog for the moon in the downward swing of its arc. The tide was falling back, taking some of the fog with it.

He padded in to bed and was fast asleep when a minor quake rumbled in the house's framework at 5:12 a.m.

…

Kento woke at 4:47. The alarm wasn't due to go off for nearly forty-five minutes, and his internal clock was usually accurate enough to wake him just beforehand. He pulled the blankets tight around his shoulders and nuzzled into the pillow, his entire world centered around the comfortable bed. Then last night's phone call dredged itself up from the other side of sleep and he bolted upright. The moment his feet touched the floor his nerves became aware of the magnetic charge that was building with a certain tangible pressure in his bones.

"No wonder I'm awake," he mumbled to himself as he stood up with a stretch, switched off the alarm and shuffled down the hall into the bathroom, reasoning that he had had enough time to get in a workout following breakfast. After the shower he moved much more quickly back into his room where he finished drying off as he picked out the day's clothes. Once dressed he silently made his way into the kitchen to make breakfast, bringing the orb of Hardrock with him. The moon had nearly set and was shining through the window with enough light for him to see. He set the marble down on the counter near the edge of the light and turned to fetch the breakfast ingredients.

He was sliding the cooked eggs onto the plate when the pressure in his entire body charged up. Quickly he put the pan into the sink and grabbed the dishes just before the earthquake began. It wouldn't be strong enough to send him running for the doorway with a warning shout to Jiro, that much he could tell, but the epicenter was somewhere nearby. As the floor vibrated under his bare feet and dispelled the charge he looked over to the counter. Hardrock's orb remained lifeless in the moonlight.

…

Last night's call bothered Ryo. It was a car that had hydroplaned across a deep rain puddle into an intersection where it was bulldozed by a Mack truck. Only the car's driver was old enough for a license; the rest were 17 or younger. The semi driver was uninjured but distraught over mowing down a car full of kids then being unable to help them out, for the car was too smashed to open. When emergency services arrived he was walking in circles around the car, apologizing with a bow every here and there between his frantic chatter to keep the shocked teenagers conscious.

Ryo had been on scene for situations like this before. He was tasked with extracting the passengers and felt fine enough until the crumpled door panel was cut away to reveal moaning blood-streaked faces. The teammates shouldering the hydraulic equipment stepped away and he leaned in with his seat belt cutter as the paramedic wheeled up gurneys with cervical collars and backboards at the ready. One held traction on the nearest passenger's head while the bearer of Wildfire deftly cut away the harness and stepped back for a medic to take his place.

His job done for a minute or two, he looked away from the wreckage past the crowd of gawkers. A thought flared in his mind: a tragic car accident was common enough… what unspeakable things would happen if that gate opened? He looked at the delirious passengers, their eyes rolling in pain as someone in the depths of the car sobbed. These kids were older than he and his friends were when they began their travails, and the gravity of it hit him all at once. He was barely twenty-one and about to defend the world from some evil force yet again. Was there ever a point when the Ronin Warriors would permanently establish peace or would they go on until they died? For that matter, who would inherit the armors? He was certain it would be a long time before he received any answers.

The first passenger on this side had been extracted. He shut out the thoughts as he and the traction medic began working with the passenger in the middle seat. He didn't think about it again until later when he was allowed to lie down for a bit of sleep and found himself staring at the wall, worried out of his mind. At 7 a.m. he woke with the feeling that he hadn't really slept at all.

…

White Blaze was waiting patiently when Ryo pulled up to the house. He was quite a perceptive creature, more so than most humans, and well aware of the Dynasty gate in the west. That trait came with the territory of being a reincarnated guardian animal. There would be trouble, but not yet. This was confirmed when he saw the anxious look on his master's face as he rolled up in the jeep he'd purchased with the notion of carting the large cat around weighing heavily in his decision to buy such a large vehicle.

Ryo ran inside to change the clothes in his overnight bag and grab a bedroll. When he came back outside the clever tiger had hooked a claw on the door handle to open it and crawl into the back where he bunkered down for the ride before employing the same claw to close it.

"Ready, boy?" Wildfire said to his tiger as he threw the bag into the passenger seat and fastened the seat belt. White Blaze rumbled in agreement, and they were off.

…

Like everyone else Sayoko had slept poorly and was up very early. News of a ghostly door lording over the ocean was worse than she could imagine, and she knew it. Long after she retired to her room she could hear her brother pacing in and around the house, his shadow occasionally crossing the window. For a while she lay awake in the dark wondering how long it would be before the action would begin until at last she settled into a shallow, dreamless sleep.

As she first opened her eyes in her old bedroom she automatically thought of feeding the fish. It was her chore every morning when she lived here, and she suddenly wondered if Cye had been seeing to it in his condition. She dressed and hurried downstairs where the koi were lazing about in the morning shadows. They were intelligent creatures and very hungry indeed as they flitted around in a frenzy the moment they saw her, the hand that feeds.

A bare kitchen made another trip to the market necessary, this time for enough food to last several days with several guests throughout every meal. She bantered with some of the merchants as she shopped, most of them familiar to her for years now. Nobody seemed ill at ease. Along the way she picked up a new broom for the house since she had noticed the raggedy one while cleaning up last night before.

Upon returning she pulled her car into the garage, put away the groceries while muffins toasted in the oven and the kettle heated water for tea. When they were done she took one for herself and stored the others under a bell jar. The muffin and a glass of milk made a sufficient breakfast which she ate quietly at the dining room table in the morning tranquility with the morning sun bright on the low tide and a soft breeze through the open window.

Once the breakfast dishes were washed she took the old broom out to the trash bin, fetched the new one and set to the task of sweeping, working her way around counterclockwise with the front door open for ventilation. The rest of the house was fairly clean after last night when her brother was restless between phone calls and insisted on cleaning up the messy bathroom and the sick bowl. She was nearly finished scrubbing the floor with a wet brush when she heard the sound of a vehicle approaching the driveway.

…

A root beer brown Toyota truck with orange pin striping downshifted as it neared the turnoff for the lane. Kento drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the Iron Maiden tape and imitated the singer rather poorly. He pulled up and set the parking brake before he picked up a large box of nearly two dozen donuts from the passenger seat and shut the door. Despite the decent breakfast before he set off Kento hadn't been able to resist eating a couple during the drive.

He leaned against the car with his usual shaggy slate blue locks buzzed short for the summer, which only accentuated his bushy brows and wide-set eyes. His olive skin was especially tan this year. "Well hey there cutie pie! You look good enough to eat!"

Sayoko propped the broom against the door and walked over to hug him. She couldn't help but laugh giddily as he lifted her off the ground with one arm around her waist. "You always know how to talk to the ladies, Kento."

"How are you?" He asked as he set her down, the tone of his voice genuinely curious. Sayoko had always liked that about him.

"I'm doing well enough. I've been done with university for a while but haven't managed to find any assignments yet."

"Oh yeah, you're trying to get into nature photography, right?"

"Yeah, now that I have all the underwater gear I've been trying to get onboard with a sea expedition but that's been a tough fight. Meantime, I'm still working at the aquarium. Since I got my scuba certification a few years back I've had the joy of moving up to part of the maintenance team. Now not only do I get to feed the fish, I get to scrub the giant tanks," she rolled her eyes at the thought of the dirty job. "As a matter of fact I'm heading out there in a little while. It's KP today. How have you been?"

"Great! Once I was done with business school I decided to take a break from the restaurant. This year I've been doing labor my uncle's construction company. I worked for him during the breaks between school years when I was a kid, so I already knew my way around for the most part. My cousin has an extra room so I just stay with him and we carpool to work. It's pretty sweet good skills to learn. Oh, I nearly forgot!" He grabbed the donut box off the hood of his truck.

"Delicious and nutritious, am I right?" he said with a grin. "So, where's your brother at?"

"Still sleeping, I think. He was up late after seeing that business on the news. By the way, there's also fresh-baked muffins. Pot roast in the crock, if you're hungry enough."

"Don't tempt me, woman!" Kento shook a warning finger before getting back to the serious matter. "So what's going on with him?"

Sayoko's features shifted into a dark look of concern. "Brace yourself, Kento."

"What? He's not like, sick-sick, is he?"

"Well…"

"Oh god don't tell me that!"

"I'm not! I have no idea what's going on. He _is_ sick, though. The thing is, it's changing him. I mean, he actually looks a lot different. Last night when I came over to check on him I thought there was an intruder in the house. I don't know if it has anything to do with that Ronin Warriors business but it's pretty freaky, whatever it is."

"Okay…" Kento was rendered speechless if only for a moment.

"I was going to let him rest a little while longer then knock on his door. He was up all night pacing around the house. You know how you can identify someone by the way they walk? Even that sounds different. It's creepy. You'll find out what I mean when he's awake." Sayoko brightened. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

…

Ryo was second to arrive. He had coarse jet-black hair and feline blue eyes that stared very intensely at her the moment she opened the door. If she remembered correctly from the stories she overheard in the past between Cye and Kento, this was the fire Ronin and their leader.

"Good morning," how bowed before she could say anything. "I am Sanada Ryo."

"I'm Cye's sister Sayoko. Pleased to meet you," she returned the gesture and stepped aside for him to enter the house.

"Hey Ryo! How are ya, buddy?" Kento stepped around her to greet his friend with a bear hug. "It's been too long, man!"

"You're right about that," the shorter man agreed in a smoky voice.

While they stood there talking a very large white tiger wandered up from Ryo's jeep. Sayoko had the sense not to shriek as she clutched at their shirts and tried to drag them into the house. Kento burst out laughing.

"Whoa, it's alright," Ryo held his hands up in a gesture of reassurance. "That's White Blaze. He's tame."

"…He's yours?" Sayoko asked when the shock wore off.

"I don't know if I'd say that. It's more like he owns me."

"Can I pet him?"

"Sure, just hold out your hand to introduce yourself. Promise he won't bite it off."

"He's a sweetheart," for reassurance Kento knelt to wrestle him by the neck and nuzzle between his ears. "You're a good boy, aren't you?"

The tiger purred up into an affectionate roar with a hint of a smile on his face.

Sayoko gulped and stepped outside. With her left hand held steady she said in a tender voice, "Hey there White Blaze. My name is Sayoko."

The tiger looked into her eyes and gave a faint roar of acknowledgement before he sniffed her palm. When he nuzzled into her fingertips she dared to move closer. "Aw, I think my heart just melted a little bit."

"White Blaze loves making new friends," Ryo laughed from where he watched with his arms crossed.

"This is so cool!" Sayoko squealed. "Where did he come from?"

"He just started showing up outside my house when I was growing up. My grandparents have land with a lot of space for trees on one side of the property. Not exactly a forest but it was big enough for him to live in. I saw him every once in a while, usually just hanging around when it was sunny and warm. One day I got curious enough to approach him, and he just let me. Since then he was cool with being close to the house. We never bothered him."

"And then there's that whole bit about him being your guardian animal," Kento scratched the cat's twitching shoulder blades.

"Huh?" The blonde was confused.

"This dude watches out for us, especially him. Pretty smart, aren'tcha buddy?"

White Blaze purred.

"Funny," Sayoko commented. "Cye never said anything about a tiger. He never says anything about you guys."

She looked from Ryo to Kento, whom she knew only because he was Cye's best friend and a frequent visitor.

"It's hard to talk to anyone about the things we dealt with," the dark-haired Ronin said cryptically. Kento only kept his eyes down and nodded.

…

"So let me get this straight," Cye's sister said over her second cup of tea and an empty plate that held muffin and donut crumbs on dining table. "This Talpa demon, is he dead? How did he keep coming back?"

"I don't think 'dead' is exactly the word for it," Ryo had just told the majority of the Ronin Warriors story as far as he and Kento knew it. They kept some of the bloodier aspects out of it. "And we don't even know it's him. I don't know about you Kento, but it feels different to me. Once Sage and Rowen get here we'll decide what to do."

Where Torrent lay he heard only muffled voices. He had been floating in the void within the waves of sleep that he had spent hours delving for. It was their smell that permeated, sharp as he grazed the shallows of wakefulness. A sharp smell overtook him at first. He knew a familiar trace Sayoko's soap and shampoo. And then there was Kento with the underlying odor of his muscle's salts. Then came the pungent smell of burnt leaves clinging to Ryo's jacket along with a musky animal scent. White Blaze was around somewhere.

"Hey dude, how ya feeling?" Kento leaned in rather close the moment Cye opened the door, trying to see in. Hardrock's mouthwash had worn off and he leaned back to avoid the dragon breath.

"I'm not feeling too bad today," he replied hopefully. He felt relatively normal today aside from the smell sensitivity. And there was the minor discomfort from his clothes being too tight as of late. Currently he was wearing his favorite plaid pants, which he was thankful he could still fit into.

At the same time Kento, Ryo and Sayoko couldn't help notice the overwhelmingly stale room funk when Cye opened the door with precision to prevent from being seen. They waited in the hallway looking into the gloom. The hand on the door was covered in hair so thick it nearly looked like fur. The nails were long and clouded.

 _When was the last time he cut those things?_ Ryo wondered.

For a moment nobody said a word. And then Cye broke the silence. "I know what you're looking at. If that's weird to you, don't jump back now."

Slowly he moved across the room to draw back the curtain, the sudden influx of light obscuring some of the subtly deformed features of the man they knew.

They all looked him up and down, waiting for a break in the hairline to reveal itself. Instead the auburn sprawled over the forehead, the cheeks, the once-bare jaw. He saw their stunned looks and turned his gaze away from theirs. "I tried shaving it, but what's the use? It's back within two days."

He went to the bureau and put on an undershirt was at least a size too small with seams that protested at the strain.

"Dude," was all Kento said.

Torrent tried to fit into his beloved yellow jacket and couldn't get the material past his upper arms without fear of ripping it. With a sigh of defeat he replaced it on the rack and fished a stretched out t-shirt from the recesses of the drawer and glowered at the wrinkled cotton before he put it on. The front had happy little blue fish printed on it.

"At least you can still fit into those golf pants," Kento elbowed Cye in the ribs playfully.

"Yellow was never your color anyway," Ryo chimed in. "Sorry, man."

"Come on," Cye said. "Let's go sit in the living room, this is a long story."

…

Sage was well-rested. He was blessed with a natural ability to separate mind from body when it was time to sleep, though he never truly grasped how lucky most would consider him. He was also blessed with needing less sleep than others, very much preferring meditation at points throughout the day which turned into cat naps from time to time. Last night, for example.

The traveling supplies were all ready and packed away behind the seat. Once breakfast and hygiene was taken care of he said goodbye to his family, who all knew of his responsibilities to the armor and prayed for a swift and peaceable trip as he settled in for the long ride to the Mouri home.

…

Rowen was seriously questioning his life choices as he hefted the case from one arm to the other. He'd woken up late and drooling into his textbook when the janitor wheeled his bucket down the hall early in the morning. Strata gathered up his paperwork and scrambled to get the necessary tasks accomplished before leaving town, which included snagging supplies from the classroom drawers and taking his high-power microscope with him. He hadn't thought too much on it until he was on the train wondering what he would accomplish with it just as he realized how far he would have to carry it.

He leaned to one side as he walked the last part of the journey. It didn't help that his back ached after a night of sleeping on a lab block and was now weighed down with a pack full of clothes and a sleeping bag. He could've called Cye's place for a ride from one of the others who were surely already there but he was too proud for that.

As if his mind were being read, a car horn honked behind him. He turned his entire body to see around the overnight gear on his shoulders and spotted Sage's forest-green Mitsubishi coupe.

"You look like you need a lift," Halo beamed through the open window.

…

Cye was not surprised when Sage and Rowen arrived in tandem. He felt comfortable enough in his skin to stand in the doorway as they approached. They were stunned by the changes in their friend's features though both were careful not to let it show.

White Blaze bounded out to greet them as they made their way up the sidewalk. Cye watched the scene, struck with the melancholy notion that his life was already beginning to shift and he should enjoy these moments with his friends before combat overruled his life once again.

The air was thick with cologne as Sage entered the house. Rowen had no scent, perhaps a whiff of laundry soap still clinging to the fabric, and for that Cye was grateful. There was a lot of clamor as everyone greeted each other and caught up. Sayoko had already left for work but not before hugging her brother and trying to extract a promise from Ryo and Kento to keep him safe if they had to leave. Wildfire and Hardrock only smiled, knowing that was impossible.

Neither Strata nor Halo mentioned Cye's obvious physical changes until he brought it up after they had all settled in the living room. He went through the list of ailments yet again as Rowen dug a notebook to write it down and Sage studied him, or the air around him as he tried to get a read on his energy. It was a perception that he described to others as related most closely to the sense of touch. Occasionally it manifested in a quick burst of color around another person, or perhaps a faint glow that was visible for only a moment. Other times he saw images of objects or places in his head. If he focused his mind on this natural gift he could maintain this vision for extended amounts of time, though he never cared to and rarely did. Cye's natural energy was generally akin to deep water: genuinely smooth and calm on the surface with a potential to destroy hidden underneath. It was an energy that preferred to stay level. Looking at Torrent now without exercising the sixth sense Halo was reminded of kaleidoscopes, puffer fish, sparklers, light gleaming off water.

"And how long has this been happening?" Strata asked after patiently listening to Cye's complaints.

"Maybe a month? I was feeling pretty lousy for a while, but not so bad. I started noticing more facial hair but not like this. Everything seemed okay for a couple weeks, I was feeling great, then it started all over again, only worse."

"You really should go to a doctor," Rowen said. "This is all fascinating and I wanna help you figure out what's happening but I'm just a pre-med student, not a professional."

"I've already seen my family doctor. He ran some tests but nothing came back so he just wrote it off as the flu or a severe cold. They wrote a prescription to treat the symptoms for those. It helped me sleep a little better, not much."

"You should probably go back," Rowen knew all too well this was over his head.

"I will."

"Or maybe go see a specialist," Sage added.

"With me looking like this? Right. They would quarantine me into a sterile room and jab me with needles like I'm a damned medical curiosity."

"I can't lie buddy, you sort of are. This could be something serious," Rowen said.

Cye gave a little humph of agreement and was quiet again. Then he remarked, "You know, I just thought of the strangest thing. Did you ever see _The Wolfman_?"

"That Lon Chaney Junior flick?"

"That's the one."

"I've seen it."

"Something just made me think of it. I feel like I'm turning into a werewolf with all this hair." Studying the color on his arm he grinned, "Or a German shepherd."

Without looking up from his writing Rowen mused, "I always thought the transformation process in werewolf movies was entirely too fast. The human body couldn't grow at such a rapid rate. For the hair and physical distortions to just go away in the morning seemed especially impossible."

"You think it would take a longer time? Then maybe I _am_ turning into a werewolf."

"C'mon, Cye, you know werewolves don't exist," Ryo laughed a little.

Torrent laughed too, bitterly. "Yeah? And supposedly the Ronin Warriors don't exist either."

Everyone was quiet for a while.

Kento, never one to be comfortable with extended silence, asked, "So what are we gonna do about that gate? Cye, you're the only one who's seen it."

"Yeah, and I didn't even see it with my own eyes, just that quick bit on the news. They said it was visible only for a few minutes, then it was gone."

"Then we should be heading out there now!" Kento jumped to his feet.

Sage agreed, "If we leave soon we should be able to get there by the time it happens again."

" _If_ it happens again," Ryo said.

"You think it won't?"

"Probably, but what if we go all the way out there and waste our time when another door appears over Tokyo or Toyama? Or we go and it doesn't appear?"

"What should we do?" Cye sat on the arm of the couch and looked out the window.

"With you being sick lately, a trip like that could be a strain…" Rowen began.

"Even though I feel fine today?"

"Well the way you describe it, it sounds like things could change at any moment. It sounds like it would be a lot of waiting around out there. I think it would be best to wait and see what happens, make our move when we know what's going on."

"We've never known what's going on whenever we have to call on our armors," Sage crossed his arms.

"True, but it seems like they're totally inert right now. Let's call Mia and see if she can help us figure this out."

"Good idea," Ryo nodded.

Mention of Mia jarred Cye's memory. "Maybe she can see if this has any significance."

He disappeared into his room and came back with the notebook containing the dream poem, handed it to Rowen who read it with his eyebrows furrowed together, then translated it into Japanese for the others. "It's probably just a bunch of nonsense, but it really felt like it meant something. Maybe I've heard it somewhere before."

…

In a dark and locked corner office within the history building of Sengoku University a cell phone began to ring, the chirping sound slightly muffled by the briefcase where it was stashed. Professor Koji Mia was in the middle of a lecture, too far away to hear it.

…

"No answer," Ryo hung up.

"She's probably busy teaching," Rowen looked at his watch. "We'll try again later."

"You know, that's another thing," Cye remembered. "I've been so behind on homework with all of this going on, and for some reason I just don't care."

He shrugged apathetically. "Right now I'm more concerned with keeping this damned appetite at bay. Come on, let's eat."

By the time lunch was over the tide was rushing in with large waves.

"Well if we're not rushing off to fight it's a perfect day for surfing," Cye got up from the table. "You guys didn't bring your swimsuits by chance, did you?"

Of course nobody had thought of such a thing. Torrent shrugged, "Oh well. I've got extra swim trunks you can borrow, or you can swim in your boxers for all I care. Kento, you have that extra pair here. C'mon, let's go."

"Really?" Sage said incredulously.

"Hey man, I'm down," Kento was already up and following Cye toward the garage. "If we're not gonna be doing anything I don't want to sit here bored."

Rowen shrugged and trailed the two with his pathology book in hand. Sage and Ryo looked at one another, shook their heads and followed suit into the garage where he was pulling surfboards down from their racks. There were three, all lovingly handmade in Cye's free time. He laid his favorite board against the wall, handed the one with more stability to Kento and the third, his newest creation with three fins, went to Ryo who looked at it reluctantly. After packing towels, a cooler and an umbrella they started off down the wooden walk to the shore.

It took quite bit of paddling to get out far enough for a run, but Cye felt more energetic than he had in weeks. Kento, meanwhile, was huffing and puffing by the time he got up alongside him. They rose and fell with the swells until the right one came along: a mountain of water surging up before them, its blue depths darkening with power. Cye led the way, paddling with the rising current until they were near the top, at which point he turned the board, gave a few propelling kicks and climbed up. "Go, go, go!"

He was already racing across the wave when the slope increased until it began to curl over. Kento was close behind but far enough to watch the pipeline closing in overhead. The board surged up beneath him and swept him off in a tumble of arms and legs while the water Ronin kept his footing just ahead of the falling crest. Cye lowered his stance and coasted around the bend in the sand, out of sight.

"Look at that," Rowen remarked from where he leaned against the unused third surfboard propped in the sand with the book propped on his knees. "A surfing werewolf."

Ryo chuckled without opening his eyes as he lay in the warm sand.

From the shade of the umbrella Sage said, "I don't know if we can call him a werewolf."

"Yeah, but I don't know what else to call him right now. And you gotta admit, he sure looks like one."

"It _is_ a full moon tonight," Ryo said.

"Which is why I think we should be driving out to the whirlpools. If something is bound to happen it will be tonight. Meanwhile we'll be here, how far away? Eight hours away by train, nearly ten on the road? We'll be stranded far out if all the power goes like it did with Talpa."

"Sage, I agree that we're sitting ducks here, but look at Cye," Rowen was trying to keep the breeze from flapping the book's pages. "He's not in any condition to go that far unless we're certain something is gonna go down. Even if he's okay now things could take a turn."

"Just like things could take a turn with the Dynasty gate."

"They always manage to come to us. I think if we're meant to fight something will happen here before we have to get there," Ryo said.

…

Cye knew he should've paid more attention to his body's energy reserve, but this was the most fun he'd had in days. He surfed and he swam and he fought the waves until the exhaustion and hunger began to weigh him down all at once. He felt the ocean trying to drag him out and he dove under the wriggle out of the current. By the time he was close enough to shore to stand stably he was on the verge of panic. For a moment he was quite certain the mighty element wanted to claim him personally. His eyes were bleary with seawater and the sun's reflection as he charged out of the water and collapsed in the wet sand.

"Cye!" the others cried as they rushed around him. Ryo was closest, looking him over for signs of injury.

"I'm fine," Torrent said in a weak voice. "Just tired, that's all. Perhaps a nap will do once we get back to the house. In the meantime, leave me here a minute. The little waves are nice."

The surf rushed in over his back and through his hair as he smiled up at nobody in particular, feeling at one with his element. Everyone else stepped back and exchanged concerned glances with one another.

…

Cye was fast asleep in his bed when Sayoko arrived home a few hours later. Kento watched a rugby game from the kitchen while he cooked, Sage meditated on the living room floor, Rowen was hunched over a textbook at the table, Ryo dozed with his head back on the couch.

"Smells good!" she inhaled deeply.

"Hey, glad you're here," Hardrock said as she walked in. "Hope you don't mind, we're all kinda hungry and the roast is gone so I just got everything out to cook dinner. I promise I'll clean everything up afterwards."

"Mi casa es su casa, Kento. That's very nice of you to cook, thanks. I thought Cye would be all about helping you with this," she set her purse down and looked into the living room at the other three Ronins.

"He crashed out pretty hard after we went surfing earlier. I figure he'll be up as soon as this is done. Oh hey, introductions! You know Ryo."

Ryo waved as he blinked sleepily. Sayoko gave a small wave back.

"This is Hashiba Rowen of Strata and Date Sage of Halo," he pointed at them from the kitchen. "Guys, this is Cye's sister."

"Hi, I'm Mouri Sayoko," she shook their hands and bowed her head. She could guess their identities by their hair - the blue locks must belong to the sky, Strata, and the other with gold hanging over sharp eyes was surely Halo.

"Pleased to meet you," Rowen seemed friendly enough.

Sage nodded at her quietly.

"You've got good timing," Kento brushed by them to set a covered casserole dish on the table. "Food's up. Go tell Cye to get his lazy butt outta bed."

Rowen helped set the table, Ryo dialed Mia's number and reached her at home while Sage grounded himself and slowly stood up. In the hallway Sayoko knocked on the closed bedroom door. "Hey, wake up. Kento made supper."

In Cye's head he was still riding the waves from earlier. The sudden intrusion on his dreams startled him upright sat up until the sudden change in blood pressure from his reclining posture dropped and he collapsed back onto the bed in a head rush. The room didn't stop spinning and then there was the nausea and the aches.

"Not this again," he groaned to himself before raising his voice to reply, "I'll be out in a minute!"

Once he had worked up enough energy he walked into the main room and was greeted with a telephone receiver. It was Mia on the other end, always a delight, but Cye was not pleased to be bombarded the moment he got up. He kept the sour attitude out of his voice as he recited the chant and the context of the dream for Mia, who was already informed of the situation happening among the Ronins.

"You say it's in English?" she affirmed.

"Yeah, it's my second language. There's been only a few times when I've heard it my dreams."

"That might make it a bit tricky," Mia turned to look at the books she'd inherited from her grandfather. "I almost certainly don't have anything here and my English skills are really rusty. Bad enough that I couldn't read it if you hadn't translated it. But I can make some inquiries on the web, that could be helpful."

"Thanks. Don't dig yourself in a deep hole because of it, though. Like I said, it very well could mean nothing."

"Sure. In the meantime I'll be looking into anything that could be related to that gate. Even if nobody finds anything let's stay in contact."

After Mia hung up the phone she went into the closet and pulled out the case that housed the trusty old computer where the legends of the Ronin Warriors were kept.

…

Cye stood on the deck enjoying the sea breeze flowing around him. Following dinner, the scent of food drifted away in the wind and through the window came the sound of dishes clattering in the sink as they were washed. Despite his amped senses he gazed out at the deep blue field of stars hanging over the endless parade of large white-capped waves stretching further and further into the sea with each beat. His eyesight was just as clear as it had been during the day and he was captivated by the stark contrast of stationary plants and creatures flitting about in the inkwell of the sea. Further out a black and monstrously shapeless form swam just below the surface with fins undulating lazily with the current, or were they tentacles? Curiosity piqued, he stepped slowly down the deck stairs and started toward the cliff with his eyes trained on the thing swimming around beneath the rising moon. Somewhere near the edge he remembered standing here when he saw Torrent in its all glory for the first time, then the memory drifted away as the creature seemed to recognize him there on the edge, a tiny and distant human, and lured him with an exaggerated sway of its fins.

The edge of the bluff towered over a thin submerged field of rocks with a ledge just low and broad enough to walk along if one was careful. Further southeast the terrain fell and curved inward where it collected sand for the beach. It was possible to clear the stones and strike the water without breaking any bones, though the undertow was dangerous and he'd never done it. Now there wasn't even a second thought aside from his quick glance downward to make calculate the jump. He knew if he were underwater he could see everything that was obscured up here on dry land. It seemed the elements responded to that thought as the reflection glared bright on the waves, nearly burning his eyes. He ran the last few paces, pushed off the earth and let gravity take him down as he slowly flipped forward into a dive and pierced the sea like a spear.

 _++To be continued++_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"I don't hear anything," Cale strained to catch a sound beyond the ripples around everyone's legs as they shifted uneasily in the calf-high water.

Inside Dais' skull the pain was concentrated like a spike driven through the back of the empty orbital socket. It deadened the nerves in the rest of his body and made it difficult to concentrate, though he was glad to have the task to think of anything but the headache. Yes, he could feel the rolling washes of energy, faint like spider's silk and somewhat ticklish. "You cannot hear it, but can you sense it in the ground?"

With his eyes closed to shut out the primary sense of sight Cale admitted he could indeed feel the vibration.

Kayura felt it rattling faintly in the pole of the staff as she stared at its lightless globe. "Do we push open the door?"

"Possibly, but then what?" Dais questioned. "We were not strong enough to defeat the Ronin Warriors in our prime, why would we be able to defend the Nether Realm from whatever is on the other side of this gate?"

"Speak for yourself, spider demon," Cale sneered. "Are you not confident in your abilities, or are you simply afraid to fight?"

Without moving his head Dais' single eye arced until he glared at him over his nose. "I am realistic, you proud fool."

"Well then what is your idea? Stand here and keep waiting? You've been putting this off all night."

"It seems to be the most reasonable way," the Demon of Illusion crossed his arms haughtily.

"Let's just wait for the Ronin Warriors to make the first move. That's it then. We wait like helpless children."

Sekhmet interjected, "He's right. I, for one, am not looking to rush into a fight that could kill me. Especially when we are all so unprepared."

"If Torrent is truly in trouble and I am needed, the Ronins will come here," Kayura was confident with this shred of knowledge. "I propose that we each take a shift watching for activity. We all carry on with the day with one designated person always looking out for this thing."

"I can agree to that. However, I'm not going to stand out here in this water with nothing to do but wait for a case of trench foot," Sekhmet briefly pulled one muddy bare foot from the water. "The gate is big enough for any of us to see it from afar."

The other three Warlords nodded.

"I will not be able to watch during the night festivities," Kayura said first.

"I can," Cale offered.

"Then I will be ready at dawn."

The Warlords of Venom and Illusion looked at one another.

"I can patrol at noon but I must sleep," Dais said at last. He was not about to admit to the pain in front of all of them. He knew better than that; any sign of weakness could be relentlessly mocked. If Anubis the Warlord of Cruelty were here he would have already been heckling the white-haired warrior for needing rest.

"And I will take over in the evening," Sekhmet concluded.

"It's settled," Cale withdrew the footwear and a rag from the saddle bag, climbed up onto his horse and dried his feet in order to put on his socks and boots as the others did the same. "I have my sacrificial duties after sunset. We will gather for the first meal and then I will take night watch."

They started back toward town. As they rode away from the gate knowing their lives were about to shift they were awestruck by the fallen City of Desire with its exposed, crumbling castle reincarnated in the walls of the new structures, its blood pulsing in the streets, its sacred flames reflecting on the thousands of protective sigils. It was a phoenix, a living island of light in the darkness.

Near town Kayura reined in her horse. "Wait! They're expecting something from us. What are we going to tell them?"

"If they ask questions we will give them answers," Dais said. "If they still cannot see the gate we will not tell them."

Kayura insisted, "And we must be tactful. They already align us with demons."

"To hell with that!" Cale spurred Kumo forward. "If they think we are like demons, then we must act like demons!"

The rest of them traded glances and followed. They started off around the west side of town without saying a word as they neared the ranch where the castle gleamed beyond. Cale rode ahead to open the barn for the other horses to be groomed and put up for the night. As they finished up the tasks he suggested, "Why don't we meet here before sunset? If we have battles to face we should be practicing."

Sekhmet and Dais nodded rather enthusiastically while Kayura was not so eager, though she could not bring herself to admit it. Instead they all agreed and decided to part ways for the night. The changing of the guard would happen in the square. The two started off toward town, momentarily leaving Kayura alone with Cale.

"I've got to get back. See you in the morning," she said briskly and headed off to trail them.

Cale saw right into her distrust and thought of making a comment to her, but he simply chuckled. Kumo was restless and pawing at the gate of his stall.

Within minutes they were charging through the streets. His habit of sticking to the shadows proved advantageous against much of the population who had some form of restricted vision and could only hear the approaching thunder of hooves in the sharply contrasting lighted roads. Kumo was feeling ornery as he often did, and he delighted in pounding his steel-clad feet into the compacted dirt and over cobblestones, leaving travelers in the dark streets barely enough time to dodge the oncoming horse and scream insults after him.

The Warlord of Corruption saw his opening in the sea of festival goers as they made way for a pair of men walking through with a slaughtered buck tied by its ankles to a pole slung over their shoulders. With a quick jab of his heels at the horse's sides the two barreled between two of the bonfires, stirring up a trail of cleansing smoke and embers as they crossed the circle and disappeared down a side street running out into the familiar moonlit fields. The most anyone ever saw of them was a silhouette of horse and rider, the loop of whip and a glint of firelight reflected off the large sword's hilt hanging at the man's hip.

Kayura watched him from a different bank of shadows further from the stage and shook her head with a sigh as she searched for Lerion with the staff propped silently against her shoulder.

"What in blazes does he think he's doing? He could run over someone!" The mayor began to shout the moment he saw her. This angered the monk, who answered for no one but herself among the band of Warlords.

"Silence!" She shouted with a growl in her voice. Swiftly she brought the heel of the staff drown in a sharp crack against the ground and sent the rings into a frenzy, the robes on her small frame bright like a star as the movement of metal cast a glint over her. Nearly everyone came to a stop save for the drummers, who only continued on at the urging of the conductor. Her nerves were worn thin not even halfway into the first night and she irritably decided to ride the shock wave left in the wake of Cale's dramatic entrance.

"We have come to a decision! Now that I have had time to reflect on my visions," she glared keenly at Lerion, wordlessly chastising him in return for his treatment of her. She lied through her teeth to the rest of the people, "There is tranquility now but there is no promise that it will be everlasting. We will be patrolling among you, looking over your shoulders for signs of trouble. If and when it comes we will go before you to guard the peace."

This earned a stir of commentary but overall they seemed to trust her words, especially when the staff's orb caught a certain light and reflected it into their eyes. She added mysteriously, "You may not always see us but we are always here."

With an authoritative glance at Lerion to signal that she was done speaking she whirled and strode away with the staff in tune with her step, each ring crying out repetitively as she made her way toward the graveyard out of earshot.

A few faint wisps of ether curled around the headstones. These were the other cemetery residents, spirits who chose to hang around here rather than haunt their old homes and families. They were harmless and rarely appeared, though Kayura wasn't at all surprised to see them tonight.

"Good evening," she greeted them as she passed toward her mausoleum. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

The little house was dark out here away from the festival chaos. She settled onto the steps and took some fruit from one of the offering bowls. Someone had left a small bottle of wine and a glass, which she worked to uncork and took a helping. She was utterly exhausted after her interaction with the Ancients, even more so after the ride out to the water lands. She would sleep soundly, but sitting here to enjoy the peace in her quiet corner of the world took priority as she knew tomorrow brought change.

It was reaching midnight and the moons were reaching their apices with their edges overlapping, creating a small inverted eclipse of fiercely bright light. From the south side of town fireworks shot up into the sky and exploded into loud flares of colorful fire. Lady Kayura sat on the step, looking down at the little stars and moons reflected in her glass of wine before she turned her eyes up and smiled contentedly at the trails of light.

…

The walk back to Sekhmet's cottage was tense even when they twisted and turned through a particularly busy commerce street, both waving away unwanted goods. He and Dais said nothing to each other until they were within sight of the scarecrow.

"I need your help," Dais had been working up the nerve to say it the entire way. "There's that old pain in my skull."

Sekhmet knew it all too well and had assumed that was the issue judging by the slight changes in his gait, as though the mere act of walking pained him. The armor of Illusion largely eradicated its bearer's pain but it did not take it away entirely. During those times Dais was worn down just enough to make him a far more vulnerable opponent. Now, the snake warrior knew, his comrade was right for admitting he was not ready for battle.

In the garden they stopped while Sekhmet gathered a selection of herbs and Dais closed his eyes to breathe in the green smell all around him in the leaves. It was an assault on the olfactory, both harsh and comforting.

Sekhmet went over to the bank of trees where a willow glowed a ghostly greenish white in light of the three moons. He withdrew his trusted knife from its hip holster and sliced off long, thin slices of fresh bark. There was a jar of dried bark at home but the energy building around them lent power to the land and its plants, making this especially potent.

At the doorstep they took off their footwear to wash the last of the mud from between their toes using a dip of water from the rain barrel before going inside. It was pleasantly dark in the house. Here the herbal smell was crisper. Dais looked up at a few bunches of dried plants while Sekhmet lit the candles, gave him the bedroll and blankets from the closet, and set to work. He filled the kettle from the jug of water and set it on the hearth hook before he stoked the fire. Once that was going he swung the kettle on to heat and went to the counter, put the herbs in a mortar and began to crush them with the pestle, pausing to descend into the root cellar for additional ingredients.

Dais sat in the single chair watching silently as his old rival put the plant bits directly into a cup and poured hot water over them along with the strips from the tree. He thought again of the old days when their armors promised health and everlasting life and the wearers liked to test each other's immortality. One of Sekhmet's favorite games was experimenting with the potency of various poisons. Dais learned the very specific pain involved and became leery of eating or drinking anything left unguarded around the snake demon. So when his host offered him a mug he glanced suspiciously at the leaves floating around.

Sekhmet read his mind. "It's nothing that will hurt you. Feverfew, willow bark and devil's claw for the pain. Ginger for the stomach, valerian and lavender to help you sleep."

Dais sniffed the cup. "It smells like dirty socks."

"That it does. Drink it."

Cautiously he sipped the steaming liquid. "It tastes like it smells."

"How would you know what dirty socks taste like? You asked for my help. Here it is. If you want it, drink up, if not it's no pain to me. It may be too late for this to stop you from hurting anyway; it takes a while to work into your system. Good luck."

Dais said nothing, only began to take large gulps between breaths to keep it down with an occasional grimace when he swallowed . Sekhmet watched with a smug grin and got up to get a jar of salve along with a glass of water. "Put this on your forehead and the base of your skull and your feet. Don't get it in your eyes or you'll really be in pain."

He handed it off to the pained man and blew out the candles once the mat and blankets were laid out near the hearth, leaving him in the low light of the fire as he turned to go outside where he could enjoy the night by the yard's fire pit. "Yell at me if you need anything."

Before stretching out on the bedding Dais put the oily concoction on his skin and discovered the chilly mint was more of a distraction from the headache than an actual relief. Thankfully it was quiet aside from the hiss of the fire and the random pop when a wood knot burned. After a few drinks of water to dilute the unpleasant taste of the tea he lay flat on his back with shirt off and rolled into a blindfold to block out the light, then tried to concentrate on maintaining a deep, steady breath. That was quite difficult considering that the headache had sanded down all other thoughts until he could only wonder what awaited him and the others. By the time he fell asleep his head was flooded with the painful remembrances of all the times he knelt before Talpa's throne looking up into the void in the eyes of a true demon's mask.

 _++To be continued++_


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Notes: It's been a while! To be exact, the idea for this whole affair came to me around New Year's 2008/2009 when I was pent up sick in bed for days with nothing to do but rewatch the series. That means this story has been crashing around in my head off and on for nearly a decade. The first posted draft (which contained only a few thousand words) trailed off here in this chapter. Over a year has passed since a post to the revised version has been made, and even now as these next four chapters go up, I see past mistakes and a few irrelevant details which must be retconned when there is more time. Hey, most of the framework is laid out, but I'm still making things up as I go. As usual, please forgive any errors and inaccuracies. Thank you for reading!

 **Chapter Ten**

Mouri Cye regretted his decision the moment he was airborne. Even as muscle memory engaged and he automatically unfolded into a straight dive his inner dialogue was screaming _You idiot, you've never done this once in all these years! You would never do it in calm waters, you would never do during the day when you can see!_ But he _did_ see everything crystal-clear by the light of the rising moon. It was enough for his vision to make out every rock, every blunt face, every sharp edge. Anyway, it was too late. All he could do was take a breath, hold his body straight from his toes to the blade of his hands as he fell.

Right between two slabs of stone.

Though he did not strike anything solid when he broke the water's surface, the tide powered strong eddies circulating around the rocks which then caught his momentum, turned it and slammed him against the cliff wall. It was enough to knock some of the breath from his lungs. He surfaced at the crest of the waves, bobbed around to get some air and let the feeling in his ribs pass. Cye was shocked with himself. He was literally mere inches from death, and though he had been several times before, this instance required no enemies, nothing more than his own impulses and zero forethought.

He kicked along, toying with the idea of returning to shore already. He was nervous with adrenaline, yet he had already come this far and the water was pleasantly warm, so why waste it? When he felt right again after being thrown against a rock he took in a few deep pulls of air and dove. The water pressure exerted against his body was somehow soothing and it felt good to drift in the suspended gravity. There was less turbulence far below the surface where the moon's illumination was broken into soft, dancing blue beams of light that barely grazed the sea floor. He tasted the familiar brine of seawater on his lips and cupped his hands to propel himself away from the cliff, startling a few sand-dwelling fish along the way.

The water was somewhat calmer or at least more predictable in the small gulf before the beach. Still, he knew he must be wary of the tidal forces surrounding him on a night like tonight; despite his prowess it was easy to be swept away altogether. As he swam he played his usual series of games that were rather more like tests of ability: seeing how far he could go between the rocks and the beach, then back again, then pushing out against the incoming tide as far as possible between breaths. Sometimes he stopped for breath or perhaps just to roll around beneath the surface blowing bubble rings.

The longer he stared into the ocean the more he became aware of the curious dark mass that he thought he saw before the dive, tried to dismiss it as a trick of the violent water. It appeared completely black where it lurked near the horizon just below the moon's reflection. Compelled by curiosity, Cye went under and swam furiously toward it. From what he could tell it was something larger than any whale he'd ever seen, a figure of such magnitude it was unfazed by the many mighty currents. Though there were no eyes to be seen he had the cold, horrible feeling that this thing was looking right back at him.

His lungs craved oxygen sooner than usual, forcing him to kick up to the turbulent surface. The distant creature that originally caught his attention was not visible here, and when he returned to the depths he had lost sight of it. Yet he swam on through the offshore kelp forest, determined to know if it was a threat, employing his best techniques for speed and finding that he was still near the beach each time he surfaced for air. It was as though he made no progress in the kelp patch despite the way he moved effortlessly past the tall plants. It took a bit of patience to navigate through the underwater forest. The undulating columns of seaweed never ended, sometimes tried to wind around him in the violent surface currents and hold him just below.

Eventually he grew tired of this quest when he neared the outlying monolithic rock so tall it was never submerged even in the highest tides. He found the well-known handholds and clambered up to take a break on its flat top where he could marvel at the warm mist that shifted in the ocean's wind and ringed the moon with a rainbow. The light lent such rich textures in each layer before him he could not help being entranced by its beauty. Each star was its own crisp, unique color. The perfect circle of the moon rose behind the dissipating fog, her brightness obscured just enough for him to study her scars. The rhythm of the waves kept drawing his eyes down to play tricks on his brain. The water was not gradients of black as it should have been, but all the vivid blues and greens he had seen on the brightest days while the beach shimmered with gold dust, millions of dry grains like miniature stars. The waves crashed and danced, and he saw each one.

These waves whispered, _TORRENT…_

"I am not hearing that," Cye said aloud to himself, just as much for cover noise as for reassurance. "This is part of whatever's wrong with me… my mind is so tired it's playing tricks."

 _TORRENT…_

"No!" The bearer of the water armor turned away from his element.

 _TORRENT…_

…

In the world between worlds Kaosu and Anubis heard the ocean's repetition as they sought Cye's energy signature. The sound was the way through the veil. Together they called, "Torrent…"

…

The moon glared on the wet rock.

" _TORRENT…_ "

Cye shielded his eyes from the glare, sensed movement around him. Two figures in wide brim hats and ancient robes stood in the light.

Cye's heart sank with recognition. "Anubis? Ancient One?"

"Cye of the Torrent," Kaosu spoke. "A dark god awakens and seeks your energy. You bear Torrent, the Ronin armor of water. Water in which it sleeps like so many of the ancient gods. Your life force is being bled away. It feeds from a distance, from another plane. Once it devours the force of Torrent it will disrupt the balance holding evil forces out of this world. The seas will rise in apocalyptic waves. The rain shall fall until all drown. And only thereafter shall all the other elements succumb to evil."

Cye's blood chilled with the sickly reminder that he was the very last defense against hell. "You have time to prepare yourself. You need not take action until three full moons expire."

Cye calculated the meaning. "Wait, do you mean two months from tonight?"

"This full moon, the next full moon, the one thereafter! That is when the door shall open! By then you may be dead!" Anubis was not about to waste time by speaking in riddles. "Next moon, find Lady Kayura, for she knows the incantations. But only then; your armors will not have the energy to open another door until the moon is nearly full."

"Seek the Lady Kayura, for her words turn the key…" Kaosu's words weakened against the noise raging all around.

A large wave broke against the cliff and sent up a spray into which the two spirits vanished. Cye's skull was pounding with an instant headache. His tired eyes burned in the moonlight as though he had been staring into the salty air for quite some time, as though once again he was completely drained from the spiritual interaction.

He was compelled to tell the others about this regardless of whether or not he was granted more time. It was time he didn't know he had been running out of.

The surf was picking up height with the moon's guidance. It was a long way to go. Cye breathed and found a suitable jump point. This dive was far less frightful, much lower with fewer stones to avoid. He started for the beach, seeking any friendly current and finding none. Everything wanted to pull him out to sea, even in the areas he knew to be relatively kind even during high tides. He had the strange certainty that it was all against him right now.

He surfaced between the surges in an attempt to body surf back to the beach. The first take of air was sweet relief. The second was interrupted by the fall of a very large wave. His proximity to the cliffs lighted upon him only as a third swell rocked him forward and under when its crest broke overhead, plunging him below the rock shelf into a vortex little more than five feet below the surface. Cye helplessly spun in circles, flailed his arms to slow the momentum and was thrashed about until at last the undercurrent spat him out. With only half a breath and an equilibrium rolling around in circles he first swam down, then up, disoriented as he tried to follow the shelf for guidance.

At the top he went over and found the relatively flat ledge that he could stand on in low tide, now too violent with waves to makes such an endeavor. Exhausted and unwilling to return to the currents, he found a projection of wet rock and pulled himself halfway out of the water where gravity intensified the weight of his body. His muscles trembled as he clung to the wall to rest and search for handholds, fighting the constant assault of water around his legs that tried to carry him away. When he scouted a sufficient path up he began the climb. It was all going well until a colossal wave struck the cliff at just the right angle to send the water up. Cye leaned close to the rock and dug in his fingers until he thought they might bleed, yet the sheer volume was enough to lift him before the waterline dropped so sharply he bounced off a stone and wedged his right upper arm into a crevice. Hanging stretched between the rocks with the filleted flesh of his arm bleeding into the sea, he could hardly pull in enough breath to let out a lone howl of pain.

…

The phone rang. Sayoko answered.

"Sayoko dear, did you forget to do something?" Marina asked in a chilly tone.

The girl slapped the heel of her palm to her forehead. "I forgot to call you back last night! I'm so sorry, mum!"

"Is that mama Mouri?" Kento enquired from the living room.

"What was that?" Marina heard a male voice garbled through the telephone wires.

"It was the TV," Sayoko waved a silencing gesture at the earth Ronin.

"Well how is Cye doing?"

"He's okay. Definitely sick, but he's managing. Pretty sure he went to bed after dinner."

"Ah," Marina said suspiciously. "And will you be staying there tonight?"

"Might as well. He forgot to feed the fish; somebody needs to look after them."

"Alright. I'll leave in the morning and be there by nightfall. Until then, call me at Asuka's if you need anything. Goodnight, dear."

After they said their goodbyes Sayoko hung up the phone and exhaled. "I hate lying to my mother. I swear that woman knows."

When the Ronins stared at her she shrugged, "No sense in making her fret the entire drive home. We'll explain everything when she gets here."

She decided to excuse herself in favor of a bath. There were too many people in the main room, all unfamiliar save one. It was stressful just to sit among such intense individuals, never mind everything else happening in the Mouri household.

Downstairs, she lit the candles atop the ledges, disrobed, and sank into the tub where she settled with her head resting in the flood of moonlight that spilled in through the high windows. There was no place in the world quite like this enormous bath. It was sensual in the most innocent form of the word: the scent of cedar felt cleansing with every breath, and its oils soothed and perfumed the body. Sayoko stretched out fully to enjoy the quiet water, her only moments of peace all day.

Until she was struck with unexplainable dread, perhaps something like her mother experienced. She felt as though something was very wrong, and if this was incorrect, something was about to go wrong. Slowly she sat up in the candle-lit water.

When nothing happened, nobody clamored around on the main floor, she got out to dress in fresh clothes, extinguished the flames, and went up to check anyway, surveying the situation as she emerged from the stairway. Rowen hunched over his homework at the dining table while Sage sat by his side curiously leafing through a biology textbook. Kento snored, deep in his habitual after-dinner snooze on the couch. Ryo was stretched out on the floor next to White Blaze. Cye was nowhere to be seen, presumably still asleep. She glanced at the clock, strode to the table for the remote and turned the channel over to the final minutes of a sitcom before the evening news.

The anchors went through several segments before one began, "Last night we brought you a story on the mirage gate over Naruto Bay. It seems that a wild urban legend is taking off overnight - literally!"

The camera cut from the news station to the park near the bridge spanning the strait. Ryo sat up as he instantly recognized the place where he found Cye in his elemental slumber, and worse - he could mark the exact spot where Sekhmet's attack caused a gas truck to crash and incinerate its driver, the noxious flames fueling the armor of Wildfire.

"It's like a party here. There are people barbecuing, there's music. Some people have tents set up where they're napping so they'll have the energy to stay awake tonight," a hopeful young park ranger spoke to the news reporter.

A voiceover narrated, "The photograph taken by Yama Hoku has been cited largely as a hoax, though there are many who believe this to be a marvelous natural phenomenon or perhaps a miracle."

Ryo patted Kento's shoulder to wake him as the controversial photo was broadcast. It was a large red Dynasty gate.

"Is it really that bad?" Sayoko watched the fright appear on their faces.

"That door leads to pure evil," Ryo said.

"Yeah, and there's a ton of people gathered right in front of it," Rowen added grimly.

"I knew we should've gone there today," Sage heaved a passive-aggressive sigh.

The report cut to a dark-featured middle-aged man in a trucker hat who insisted, "Half the country is calling me crazy, but I swear to you all it was real. I'm a pretty skeptical man myself and I've been trying to find a reason. Maybe it was a mirage due to the water and the heat. All I know is I saw some sort of phenomenon."

The reporter had a brief conversation with an astrologist who claimed the moon would be exerting extra influence on the earth for the next three months, then another exchange with an astronomer who stated that no such thing was true. To conclude the story the reporter gave the camera his best smile and said, "No matter what the explanation may be, it's quite a good time here. C'mon down and join the fun."

"Yeah, travel halfway across the country for some Dynasty fun," Kento sneered. "He's right about one thing: we should get going there now."

"What about Cye?" Rowen asked.

"What about him? If this is a serious threat then we all need to go." Without any further argument Hardrock went to check on Torrent, whose door was open a crack. He knocked loudly, looked into the room and turned on the light. "I thought Cye went to sleep a while ago? He's not here."

Everyone got up, wandered through the house calling for Cye until it became obvious he was gone, though his shoes remained by the front door. No sign of him in the garage or the backyard. That left only the beach to be checked. They made a line along the walkway that descended the cliff with Sayoko far in the lead, for she knew the way. So this explained the dreadful feeling in her stomach.

White Blaze took a moment to sniff the air until he caught a familiar scent. He caught up to Ryo and nudged his master's hand as they ran along, an old familiar signal. Sayoko was near the bottom of the boardwalk when the entire structure thundered with a galloping cadence. Before she could turn a shadow passed over her: it was Ryo astride White Blaze, the tiger frighteningly silent in midair. He managed to land with an equally quiet thump in the sand. Amidst the emergency circumstances the girl was astounded.

"Hop up," Ryo motioned.

She thought to ask about the strain on the animal's back but this seemed to be routine and there was no time for questions, so she did as told. Riding on a tiger's back was an entirely new experience. He took off before she totally figured it out. Instinctively she grabbed handfuls of fur and clamped her legs, praying to God that this beast wouldn't turn and maul her for making such a mistake. But White Blaze was unconcerned with the two humans riding on his back while he was completely engaged in seeking Torrent, whose odors he had lost in the restless waters.

His ears flicked at a sound as Sayoko strained to hear. There had been a song on the sea wind, faint and pained and undeniably the voice of her brother.

"What is it?" Kento treaded over the wet stones close behind them. Sage and Rowen were a few paces back, Sayoko noticed, and they were casting wary glances all around as though they expected more trouble than this.

"I heard Cye!" she shouted over the crashing crests.

"Where?" Ryo craned his head around.

"Down there," she pointed, her eyes never leaving the water. She cupped her hands to her mouth and screamed, " _Cye!_ "

All Cye could do was breathe with the sea's rhythym that sent him flopping against the blunt cliff footings. Every movement sent danger signals up his nerves into his brain, which was absolutely certain that the trapped arm would simply yet agonizingly tear off at any second. He'd swallowed seawater which churned in his stomach until he puked it back out, all over himself and into the water around him.

A spray of foam jetted up from the rock field to reveal Cye's scent in the waves. White Blaze tore across the sand, leapt onto the ridge and nimbly pawed along the flat surfaces with perfect feline grace while Ryo and Sayoko stared critically at the tidal landscape. With a surefooted drop he brought them down to the water's edge where they looked around for a minute before spotting Cye, who was now too tired to call their attention. Immediately they clutched at his arm and clothes only to find he was wedged firmly in the sharp crevice. Ryo yelled, "He's down here! Kento, help! He's stuck!"

Hardrock clambered down the stones, hooked his hand under Cye's uninjured arm, pulled up until he felt the trapped shoulder twist while Cye screamed in pain. He resituated and immediately tried again, his eyes darting around in terror as he watched the water rise to dangerous levels around his best friend. The shoulder would not move, not at this angle.

"We've gotta reposition," Ryo shuffled around and nearly slipped into the turbulent water. White Blaze tried to climb down on the narrow ledge, wanting to help. His master pushed him out of the way with the command, "No, stay up there! You can't go falling in too!"

"We can't move him! It's not working!" Kento shouted desperately. "Cye, you've gotta call your armor!"

Cye heard this, groaned, barely shook his head. He hadn't dealt with the Ronin armor for years and he never wanted to again, even now when the water was closing around him. But it seemed there was no other way. Weakly he called out, "Armor of Torrent! Dao Shin!"

The water lit up all around him, cloaked him in the familiar old blue plated armor. Even the upraised, pinned arm was properly shielded despite the stone holding him in place. He exhaled in relief, finally able to breathe without fear of drowning once the mask slid down to provide an oxygen barrier from the seawater that swelled around his throat and mouth. What was more, Torrent delivered a burst of energy strong enough for him to attempt a climb up, though he couldn't get a foothold at this angle and the power was fading fast.

"Cye!" Sayoko screamed as she watched the tide rise over him. "Oh God, help him!"

"He's okay, he can breathe underwater with his armor," Ryo's explanation did little to placate her.

Under the surface Cye floated with the hope that buoyancy would assist in freeing him. It did not. Kento was up to his elbows in the water as he clutched at his hand, unable to move him yet again without danger of falling in. Cye reached back with his good hand to unhook the yari from him back. He found a proper foothold, twisted his body and turned the trident until its prongs were hooked into the nearest rock crevice, counted the waves until a large one came along. When the water surged up the rock face he levered his body with the yari until his shoulder moved in the wedge. It was still not enough.

Above, Ryo saw the weapon break the surface as Torrent moved his weapon into place. He signaled for the others to retreat with the command, "Get back!"

Everyone raced toward the beach. The yari's blades scraped against stone as Cye held it out further away from his body, prayed that the energy wouldn't tear him apart as he shouted, "Super Wave Smasher!"

After so long without practice and in a weakened condition, the unleashed power did no such thing. It was enough to jar the stones apart from one another, knock him loose and provide a barrier from the consequential rockslide. The percussion waves were painful despite the way Torrent allowed the energy to flow through him rather than batter him. As the force rolled him around he caught glimpses of the black mass much closer than it was before. A radius of water was temporarily displaced, the resulting current began to suck him toward the sea, then there seemed to be more water than ever as a monstrous wave rushed in to fill the void, lifted him up and sent him crashing onto the ground.

"Cye!" Everyone shouted as he lay motionless on the stones. They ran to gather him up, heedless of the angry rebound tidal waves. He stood, stumbled toward the gravelly sand and was surprised when the armor of Torrent shed itself in a cascade of water though he had not willed it away. There was little time to think of that, for he was dizzy. More importantly, all his energy went with it. He took three steps forward and felt his legs go out from under him as though he were a marionette with cut strings.

Ryo rushed forward and caught him just in time. Still, there was enough dead weight to send him staggering back. Kento and Sage were at his side immediately, both stabilizing Cye by his ribs, who checked back into consciousness with an exhausted moan. Kento settled under his good shoulder to take on most of the weight as Ryo and Sage gave them space. He joked, "Man, you weigh a ton! I think you need to go on a diet."

"You're one to talk," Cye grunted. Together they hobbled along to the beach. Each step stirred the remaining seawater in Cye's stomach. He turned his head into the crook of his arm with a plea, "Set me down, Kento. Before I'm sick on your shoes."

Despite the way Hardrock gracefully settled him onto the wet sand, the shifting equilibrium was all too much for Torrent, as hot bile erupted from his mouth the moment his knees were steady on the ground. Cye felt shame mixed with the violent spasms while everyone looked on. He finished, dipped into a tide pool to wash off, then stood guardedly with his bad limb hanging lifelessly at his side. "Rowen, grab my arm."

"I dunno, I think we should get you to a hospital…"

" _Just do it!_ " he barked. All around him everyone shrank back from the yellow sheen of moonlight reflected in his eyes.

Rowen looked as though he was about to argue. At last he tenderly picked up the arm with traction as the injured Ronin moved with him in a way to avoid pain until his shoulder was at the correct angle. At that point Cye leaned forward, rolled his shoulder until the ball joint clunked into its socket with a loud pop. He got up and walked in circles with pained gasps as feeling returning to the nerves of his hand. He grunted, "Dislocated. Nothing we haven't all dealt with before, right?"

He flashed a pained smile at the other Ronins as everyone groaned with disgust and sympathy pain. With that Torrent turned and started for the boardwalk to the house. Halfway up the walk he turned and stared out into the water.

"Do you guys see anything out there?" he asked cryptically.

Everyone slowly scanned the sea and the sky. For a moment Sage thought he saw something move in the water but another look revealed nothing.

"I don't know what we're supposed to be looking for," Ryo shook his head.

"You don't see a…" words failed Cye. What exactly did he see? If not a whale, not a squid, then what? A trick of his imagination, probably. He looked to where he spotted it before… Nothing there. "Nevermind."

 _++To be continued++_


	11. Chapter 11

_Author's notes: 1994, when pagers were a thing._

 **Chapter Eleven**

The blood had dried by the time he got into the house. Rowen followed him into the bathroom and fetched the medical kit as directed. The open box revealed a full stock of musty bandages, tape, gauze and ointment tubes. He shook out a considerable length of dressing including enough to change his own bandages while he was at it. Ryo, whose profession exercised occasional basic first aid, took over the supplies. Kento and Sayoko crowded in the door to watch while Sage respectfully stayed back in the living room. Cye sat on the edge of the tub staring off in a post-adrenaline haze with the hurt shoulder slumped forward.

"What the…?" Strata stared at his teammate's wounded shoulder, carefully touched the skin away from the wound and found that the cut did not separate.

"What is it?"

"It looks like the wound is already closing." He slipped on a latex glove and touched the crusted blood. "No way! This is way too soon!"

Cye slowly raised his arm to test his range of motion as he tried to look at the wound. That action caused a small reopening on the back of the shoulder and a trickle of blood.

"Hang on!" Rowen dashed out. He hadn't known exactly why intuition insisted it was a good idea to lug a microscope all the way here until this very moment. Cye heard him rummage around in the living room before he returned with glass slides, swabs and suspension solution. The bearer of Torrent could not help feeling like little more than a guinea pig as Rowen took samples of fresh blood and new scabs before Ryo cleaned and bandaged the cuts. As soon as the wounds were tended Rowen put slipcovers on the slides and clipped the fresh blood sample into place on the microscope stage. Once the correct lenses were adjusted he stared for some long, tense minutes while the others waited in pensive silence. At last, all he sat was, "Weird."

"Well?" Cye was immediately at his side where the microscope sat atop the dining table.

"Check it out," Rowen moved aside.

As Torrent looked on he watched perfectly healthy red blood cells mingle among those that had already begun to darken and fade. "How long are blood cells supposed to last outside the body?"

"Not long," Rowen flipped through his anatomy book's hematology section and found no answer. "I don't think there's supposed to be so much old blood, not when it's in a suspension like this."

"Maybe it's an effect from the clotting process?" Sayoko guessed as she peered into the eyepiece. She thought of her college microbiology classes. That explanation didn't seem right.

The other three Ronins queued up for a turn to look through the microscope while she took the opportunity to brew up a kettle of night tea. Cye washed up at the sink and changed into fresh clothes. He accepted the tea and could not hide the way the cup and saucer rattled in his shaky hands, the right arm significantly weaker than the left. He raised the teacup to his lips, drained the drink, and stretched out on the couch with the house's only ice pack strapped to his shoulder with a length of gauze.

"That's still not looking good," Kento pointed at Cye's weak shoulder.

"Yeah, but the cut stopped bleeding," Torrent growled with a glance at the bandages, certainly not wanting to start this conversation again. "I'll go to my doctor first thing in the morning."

Sayoko reclined against White Blaze's side to scratch behind his ears while the tiger rested his head on his paws and his eyes tracked Ryo, who paced around the living room. She stared at each of the Ronin Warriors, unable to imagine Wildfire, Halo, Hardrock, or Strata in their battle gear. Now she couldn't look at Cye the same after she had seen him in Torrent, when the ancient armor and trident gave him the appearance of a formidable sea god.

"So does this have anything to do with that armor or what?" She was still not quite able to wrap her mind around the spectacle on the beach. From her point of view the water had lit up around him, lifted and collapsed in an underwater explosion of blue light with its focal point centered on Cye when he called the armor. The afterimage resembled falling cherry petals and when her eyes readjusted her brother was shielded in an intimidating ancient blue armor complete with a trident.

"I really don't know," Cye shrugged the uninjured shoulder. "The armors heal us, but it's not this fast. It felt different this time. Like it would've hurt me if I were to wear it for too long."

He took a breath and confessed, "When I was out there, the Ancient One and Anubis appeared."

The other Ronins let out a collective gasp.

"They told me that there's something they called a 'dark god' awakening on the other side of the gate. Because it travels through water, I am the one it's feeding on."

"I don't get it!" Ryo banged his fist against his leg in frustration. "This is too much like the white armor!"

Cye scoffed, "These things are a curse one way or another. They also told me that we all five of us are strong enough to create other doors around the time of the full moon… and they told me that we have to find Kayura."

"Kayura?" Rowen stuttered with a flush of color in his cheeks.

"The Ancient One said, 'Her words turn the key.' Anubis said something about incantations."

"What key?" Ryo asked.

"I don't know what they meant."

"Maybe Mia's search will turn up something," Sage tried to remain optimistic in light of the circumstances.

"Why don't we get armored up and conjure up a door right now?" Kento was ready to go.

"Like this?" Cye weakly moved his bad shoulder.

"Oh yeah…" Kento remembered.

"Anyway, they said to make that move near the next full moon."

"And what about the full moon after that?" Sayoko inquired timidly.

"The door opens," Cye responded with a heavy tone. The others stared bleakly. Uncomfortable with so many anxious stares, he shifted the conversation. "What did the news say?"

"Nothing bad so far other than a bunch of people throwing a big party," Kento shook his head in disgust. "The door wasn't visible during the live report."

"Yeah, and there haven't been any news interruptions yet," Sayoko said as she cycled through all the channels.

"Then there's nothing we can do for now?"

"Well we were planning on going to check it out seeing all those people on the news. But not with you like that," Ryo said authoritatively.

"You can go on without me," Cye tried.

Sage stopped the thought. "You know that's not true. Plus, if your armor is acting up it would be too risky to charge straight into battle. Don't get me wrong, I still want to check out the situation. Just not now. We're not going to get any more answers by running around so late tonight. We'll figure it out in the morning."

"Sounds like a plan, my man," Kento nodded agreeably. "I don't know about the rest of you but I'm all for kicking back and watching a movie until we fall asleep."

The guests unrolled their bed rolls and strategically arranged them in view of the TV while the Mouri siblings settled onto separate couches with pillows and blankets. Once everyone was settled in they zoned out on a sci-fi flick. Cye, was the first to fall asleep. Kento was unconscious not long after, soon to be followed by Ryo and Rowen. Sage turned the volume down and was almost out when Sayoko got up and retired into her old room for the night.

After a time the dried saltwater began to make Cye's skin itch. At first he scratched in his sleep, then woke up in a frenzy of nerves. His shoulder was somewhat better, enough to allow him a bath. Rather than soak in the downstairs tub he filled one in the upstairs bathroom. He was lulled there by the warm water and the late hour, nearly dozing with a washcloth over his eyes until the temperature was entirely too much. He pulled the drain plug with his toe, welcoming the air on his body as the water level dropped. But then he felt heavy without the buoyancy, and he was dizzy enough for the room to spin. Heat, still too much heat in his blood. He lifted one foot to nudge the faucet dial. Soothing cool water showered down, yet not enough as the droplets pelted his face and chest. Cye pulled himself up, the room really spinning now, and tried to let his equilibrium settle. But that old nauseous feeling was there and he scrambled to get out before he was sick into the bathwater. As he leaned onto the raised tile he slipped against the wet surface and clattered down, contorted and only halfway out of the tub.

Ryo was the first one awake when the fall registered through the floor, though Sage's lightning reflexes drove him up and off the couch before his eyes were open. He stumbled through the unfamiliar house, only for a moment to orient himself and take a headcount. Ryo, Kento, and Rowen who woke last. Sayoko stood looking out at everyone from her room, doing the same, before all focused on the sound of the shower in the lit bathroom. Sage opened the door to see his comrade nude and crumpled on the tile. In one swift motion he shut off the water and whisked the towel around Cye for modesty.

"Did you hit your head?" Ryo asked as he rushed in to check Cye's physical condition. When Cye merely groaned and rocked his head, still stricken with overwhelming vertigo, Ryo checked his eyes and ears for signs. "He's okay to move. Give him a minute."

"That's it, he's definitely going to the doctor now," Sayoko dashed off to the phone.

When Cye regained his senses his slowly pushed himself up. He had to admit defeat somewhere. Perhaps here was the line; his world was moving too fast to see exactly where it was.

Kento miraculously managed to find clean clothes that fit. The others helped steady Cye as he dressed in a polo and shorts. The fit was still not quite right, and it was only as he pulled the shirt overhead and smelled the fabric that he realized he these were Kento's clothes. He had simply been too preoccupied with not keeling over, now he was shocked to find that his physique was much more like Hardrock's stocky build. He even wore the clothes to prove it.

Everyone raced out to the driveway. Ryo folded down the backseats and took the wheel of his SUV with Sayoko riding shotgun to navigate the way, the others in the back. Cye lay supine in the flat expense behind the seats with Rowen next to him, his hands up to give traction on Cye's neck when the water warrior's pain-exhausted body fell asleep with the hypnotic hum of the road. His jaw slack and his breath roaring in and out like waves, filling the car with putrid air.

…

Dr. Emaru was a humorless man. He was short, bald, shrewd, and rather irritated to be called out of bed at such an hour.

"We are getting too old for this," he remarked to his wife, Nurse Emaru, who nodded in her usual serious, silent way. They stood awaiting their patient at the glass doors of their clinic.

A car swung into the lot, up to the curb with its lights off.

"How many of you are there?" he asked irritably as he watched them pile out.

"Six," Cye snapped matter-of-factly. He was in no mood for humor, either.

"Get in here," the doctor hissed and held the door open. Once everyone hustled inside he closed it he stopped them in the lobby with only the patient in the exam room. "I want you to tell me what happened."

Once the story was told he turned to the others and gestured for them to leave from where they gathered around the exam room door. "Privacy, if you please."

"Oh. Uh, right," Kento cleared his throat as he got moving.

Everyone stood awkwardly in the silent waiting room. Doctor Emaru sighed, his patience thin. "This will take some time."

"Hey, I saw a 24 hour diner back down that road," Rowen hitched a thumb in its direction.

"The Blue Moon," Cye knew exactly which place he spoke of.

"We can grab some grub. Think we've got time, doc?"

"Certainly."

Ryo took a pen to the stationery pad on the counter and wrote a number. "Here. Call my pager when you're done."

…

Upon first shining an exam light in the young man's eyes there was a very animal yellowish-green reflection. However, the doctor was a man of science and thought this a trick of his aging eyes.

Second, Cye was given a plastic cup. He stepped into the restroom which fairly reeked of urine laden with too much coffee. His own was even more acrid. He held back a gag, tended to the business as briskly as possible, washed, and stepped back out with the sample. Once he returned to the exam room he was ordered to rest on the patient table where the doctor began with a symptoms report.

"This is a continuation of your complaint from a few weeks back, correct?"

"Correct."

The doctor paused a moment to read notes from the prior visit. "Do you continue to sleep more than usual?"

"Yes."

"What else?"

Cye ran his nails through the hair on his forehead, reveling in the scratch. "Aside from this constant itch because of all the hair that's been appearing over the last couple weeks? Just as I've said before: it's like I've had a case of the flu that I can't shake. It comes and goes, really. My body feels weak and my headaches are sharper than anything I've ever experienced. I'm almost always on the verge of being sick to my stomach but I can't stop eating."

"How often do you eat?"

"Whenever I can. The biggest changed I've noticed is how it feels like all my senses are turned up. My eyesight's suddenly crystal clear without my glasses. I can hear everyone's cars from way further down the road than where my hearing normally picks up. If I'm in my bedroom I can tell what can of food has been opened in the kitchen because I can smell it all the way across the house. Just being awake, I feel so uncomfortable it becomes a princess and the pea situation and when I'm asleep my dreams are way too vivid. And whatever mood I'm in, I feel it to the extreme. It's like everything is all or nothing, black or white. No in between."

Doctor and nurse looked at one another. Notes were scribbled. No answers. Cye had been hoping for some immediate feedback; instead he felt a surge of regret for such ludicrous claims. Then he remembered a viable concern.

"I've been short of breath when I swim. I can't be under as long."

This cued the doctor to begin the physical with a stethoscope to listen to the lungs. He heard nothing out of the ordinary, yet he hooked a spirometer into the computer to record the patient's pulmonary functions. All appeared normal. However, Emaru knew his general practitioner skills did not lend him enough specialized knowledge to fully assess these records, which would be sent of for analysis. He thoroughly covered the checklist and was baffled when it appeared as though Mr. Mouri was at the pinnacle of health aside from the change in physical appearance.

When it became too difficult to examine the wounds through the body hair, the doctor turned toward Nurse Emaru, who was already standing there with electric clippers plugged in and ready to go. Shaving body hair was not an unfamiliar part of her work. She removed the guard, turned on the clippers and began buzzing off hair around the injured rotator cuff before making a close shave with the razor. The job done, she stepped back for her husband to return to his work.

Cye hadn't looked at the wound in a couple hours, thus he didn't know what to make of the doctor's puzzled expression.

"When your sister called she said that you had been injured while swimming tonight. This happened exactly when?"

"I don't really know, maybe around eleven? Midnight?"

"Hmm," was all Dr. Emaru said. "That cannot be right."

"What do you mean?"

"Your bruises… they're almost healed. You say you slipped on the rocks and cut yourself just tonight? The skin should still be sliced. It's too far early the healing process for such a wound to be closed. I had expected you to require stitches."

Now the nurse stared at the back of his shoulder with the same stunned expression. She held up a mirror and angled it so he could see that the skin was not fresh blacks and purples and blues but instead faded yellows and greens.

The doctor shone his light on the skin to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him, then grabbed the notepad and furiously wrote details onto the page.

Cye did not dare mention Torrent or the collective Ronin armor healing power, nor was he sure if this matter was connected to it. He did make the mistake of telling the physician that he had dislocated his shoulder, which was not received well.

"Why didn't you tell me until now?" Dr. Emaru scolded.

"Because I've done it before. All I needed to do was pop it back into place."

"You will need physical therapy!" Another inspection of the shoulder. More notes scribbled.

Cye held his tongue, angry with himself for bringing it up. He could find the right exercises and heal himself. He, the bearer of Torrent! How could he be reduced to therapy appointments? He'd been through so very much worse.

He underwent the full physical and then some, with every inch of his body inspected until he was irrevocably humiliated.

Nurse Emaru lined up an array of instruments both metal and wooden atop a sterile green pad. Cye recognized some tools as they were removed from their hermetically sealed packages and could not help but feel nervous at the sight of a syringe. The doctor took them from her with a professional smile before turning to his work with a blank expression.

He worked in silence save for the occasional command: "Open your mouth" for multiple scrapings with wooden depressors or "Hold still" as he focused the exam light. Finally he took the syringe and tried to pierce Cye's the ditch of the elbow. It took a few tries for the tiny blade to penetrate the skin just long enough for a small collection of blood, which was then transferred to a vial.

Once all samples were collected and all questions were asked the doctor wrote a referral to a physical therapy clinic. Cye reluctantly folded the paper into his wallet.

"You seem to have a minor concussion," Emaru determined. "I order you to stay on bedrest for the next week. And I do mean rest - as much sleep and as little stimuli as possible. You are also slightly dehydrated and will benefit from a saline fluid. For now you are to stay here at the clinic for supervision. Nurse Emaru, may I trust you to watch over this patient?"

"You may, Doctor," the nurse nodded. Long hours were nothing to a woman of her profession.

"Then you, my boy, are to stay here until noon today. You will be given one of the back rooms where you must rest until someone arrives to pick you up. Can we trust somebody from that crowd to fulfill that duty?"

"Yes. Ryo."

"Very good," the old doctor was pleased to see the patient had no trouble recalling his friend's name. "Nurse Emaru will occasionally wake you to check in on you. Now, let's get you settled in."

"What about my school schedule?"

"The brain is like any other part of you: it has been injured, therefore it needs to heal. You must let both mind and body rest! You will be given an extension on last week's referral. If there are any problems you will call day or night, such as in tonight's case. Otherwise you will schedule a follow up examination within one month, and you will schedule with this endocrinology specialist, and this physical therapist."

The doctor filed the notes, cleared away instruments and took away the samples for shipping as the nurse silently led him down the hall into the corner room with a hospital bed. There she bustled about with the table warmer and linens before the saline needle was inserted. At last she left him to rest as she went up to call Ryo. Cye peeled back the medical tape and gauze to examine the puncture wound on his other arm, which was already scabbed and almost healed into a hairless pink dot of skin.

…

The other four Ronins plus Torrent's sister were seated at a booth in the nearly empty all-night diner, up to their elbows in breakfast food.

"It's not that I don't trust what the Ancient One said to Cye, it's just that things can change awful quick in a day, let alone a whole month," Rowen was quite grave.

Kento pointed at a ceiling speaker from which oldies music played. "We would've heard some sort of interruption if things were going wrong. Or the armor orbs…"

"I agree with Rowen," Sage nodded next to him. "We should at least be out there to get a gauge on how far out the Dynasty door is and if there's any way to access it by land. We'll have our armors if necessary, but we should try to find a way around that. Two of us can go, two of us will stay here with Cye."

Kento didn't disagree with that plan enough to argue about it. Instead he asked, "Who stays and who goes?"

"I'll go," Sage volunteered.

"And me," Rowen chimed in.

"It's settled then," Ryo brought his fist down onto the tabletop like a judge's gavel.

 _++To be continued++_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Cye felt completely backwards in the afternoon sun. After such a long night he had no trouble sleeping the morning away in the dark exam room until Ryo picked him up at noon. The rest of the day was spent resting on the couch or outright sleeping.

The midday news showed coverage of the door, now dubbed the Naruto Gate, though this was noted after international and political affairs; it seemed to have lost some of its importance.

"At approximately 10:18 p.m. yesterday night there was a loud crack heard in the vicinity of the mighty gate. While the cloudy skies did bring rain there was no lightning, and yet some claim this is the explanation. There was no activity to report otherwise…"

Ryo did a mental calculation. "Wasn't that around the time you were in the water?"

"I have no idea."

"It was!" Kento said. "Just after seeing the late new last night I went to check on you and saw you were gone. It took us a few minutes to find you."

"What are you saying?"

Ryo answered, "I'm saying that maybe using the armors stirred up something around that gate. Maybe it's like Sage said, we shouldn't be using the armor and attracting attention unless we absolutely have to."

"Fine by me," Cye said. "That's how I operate anyway."

He sat out on the deck with dull pain wrenching through his abused body as Sayoko tuned the aperture and focus on the camera for documentary photos. Ryo and Kento watched nearby. Everyone was astonished to notice that the outer signs of damage from last night's disaster were already faded. The bruises were evolved into the end stages of healing and the skin's collagen had sutured itself under the scabbed wound.

In the early evening Kento made his way through the seaside market with a bag of food on the crook of his arm while back at the Mouri house, Ryo laid out a fire. Cye watched him work with the same precision that he'd seen in their first days as Ronin Warriors, when the boy gathered whatever nontoxic flammable material he could find in the city's demolished center. Cye remembered trying to sleep in the safety of firelight, the cement cold and uncomfortable beneath him in his sub-armor, the fear of a Dynasty ambush constantly bearing down, the anxiety too great to allow for real rest.

Once Kento arrived with the groceries, the siblings prepared dinner in the kitchen.

"So are you going to tell mom about all this?" Sayoko asked.

"Might as well. She'll find out no matter what when you guys have to…" Cye trailed off, unsure of what was to come.

There was a drawn out moment before Sayoko's obstinate reply. "I don't want to hide anymore, Cye."

"You won't have to hide. You just need to stay here-"

"No, you misunderstand me. Look, I don't know what you've endured, but you also don't know what I've been through. Somehow this Dynasty you fought took away our memories in that time, but they left just enough for me to exist here day in and day, trying to keep mom's spirits up and trying to keep my own afloat, never certain if or when you would be back. Remember that feeling when Dad wasn't coming home anymore?"

Cye paused in his work, a sudden flood of anguish crashing within him. "Yes."

"It was just like that. I don't want to go through it again and honestly, Mom has aged so much from all the stress it scares me sometimes. You know her heart isn't as strong as it used to be. Please don't keep us out."

Torrent huffed in resignation and got back to prepping the food. "Just stay out of the way when I tell you to, okay?"

After dinner, the fire was lit with nothing more than the touch of a match. In minutes flames were rolling not just with the familiar red edges on oranges and yellows and hottest blues; Cye could also see peach pink and shades of violet dancing before his eyes, while the circle of rising moon shimmered through the bonfire heat.

Cye stretched out on a lawn chair, gazing up at embers that rose into the dusky sky. Ryo noticed the intensity with which the water samurai watched everything as he squared off to spar against Kento. Sayoko tracked them with the occasional snap of her camera, having never witnessed the fighters in action, impressed by their tenacity. Though she didn't quite initially understand what she was watching, she began to see a pattern in their unique fighting styles.

It was Kento first, as he was slightly slower and therefore easier to follow. He took many blows but with seemingly little effect. He didn't evade, only deflected strikes. He stood his ground, moved with certain heavy footsteps and doled out his strength with his entire body.

Ryo's movements were lithe as he seemed to bend and contort his body around the thrown fists. It was difficult to keep the eyes trained on him, surely more difficult to land a punch. The strikes that did connect rocked him, but then he was right there again fighting back. He kept pushing and pushing his opponent with ferocity, never backing down.

Around and around the two went for much longer than any normal sparring match. At last Sayoko called out the Mortal Kombat tagline, "Finish him!"

Ryo and Kento stopped with surprising ease, grasped each other's forearms in what appeared to be a sportsmanlike handshake as they caught their breaths… until they mutually moved to grapple the opponent to the ground. Kento maneuvered low as he pulled Ryo over his shoulder, flipping Wildfire onto his back.

"Oh yeah! Number one!" He did a fist pump in celebration and danced away.

Sayoko didn't know whether to laugh or check on Ryo, who wheezed, "I let you win…"

Cye hardly watched the match as he was preoccupied with staring out into the ocean, trying vainly to see what taunted him the night before.

…

The breezy sea air carried many heavy memories even at high noon. Marina sat in what was quite possibly her favorite spot in the world here on a particular bench which overlooked a small cemetery nestled alongside a cliff-top park and, down below, a port. The city of Naruto lay behind her, with the lowlands bordering the harbor just beyond the cliff's height front of her. She had been fond of practicing landscape sketches in her university days, and it was on the port's boardwalk where she had first met the handsome young shipmate named Mouri Hitoshi. She remembered feeling so out of place, silly like a schoolgirl, dressed in her uniform talking to a grimy sailor fresh from the sea. She thought of the charm tattoos along his arms as he wrapped them around her, of his beard bristled with sea salt and the way it tasted when he kissed her.

Now, in the present, Marina cried into the wind as distant ship bells struck at her heart. If only she knew exactly where his drowned ship lay, perhaps she could fully heal. Even then, she was not sure it was possible. She had simply loved Hitoshi too much to ever move on. She never thought of anyone but him, just as it had been since the first day they met.

Not that she hadn't tried. She'd made the unprofessional mistake of briefly dating her agent who had always been half in love with her. The trouble was he was half in love with all his other female clients, while a large piece of Marina's heart lay somewhere out there in the sea. The romantic relationship had quietly expired and was never spoken of these days. A couple other men here in this country and there in her birth nation, men who gave out their numbers, took her to dinner, and little more.

She dusted her hands, stowed away her sketch supplies, and rose to walk through the cemetery toward the high cliff. This was the first Japanese city she had called home, the one where her children had been born. She thought of them now with a maternal twinge of worry as she thought of the news she'd heard from excited patrons buzzing about in the gallery, from the news on the radio.

Her silver hair wavered in the breeze as she shaded her eyes with her hand, gazing down from the bluff at the two whirlpools. No magical mystery door. The spiraling pools were captivating nonetheless. She stood staring into their beauty, which she had drawn in this very spot with sketchpads just like the one under her arm now. Here and there a vessel would navigate around with a wide berth, just as Hitoshi's did countless times. She watched them come and go past the funnels for a while, and by the time she returned to the car her thoughts had turned dark.

Marina hated that she wept so easily. She remembered the days when she wasn't so worrisome, when life was prosperous without having to pay a price. The disappearance of the _Silver Dragon #3_ had cleaved her life in half, one side all light and love, the other shadowed by tragedy.

First she lost him to the ocean. She returned to her homeland in order to grieve among blood family after her husband's kin shut her and the children out as the English whore and her two mutts. The Mouri clan had never cared for her mixing blood with one of their own; now that their son and brother was dead they could hold it against her. Back in the western world she was unsurprised to discover there were extended members of her own family who felt the same. Even her own father had always been wary of Marina's husband. Hitoshi's insurance money was all hers after so many years, and she could have the dream house they always wanted; the only twisted red-tape stipulation was that she and the children had to return to Japan to receive the benefits, away from her parents once again. The move back was only fair to her son and daughter, who had both struggled to adapt to British culture while also trying to process their missing dad. Then came Cye's duty as a Ronin Warrior, which was a mysterious recurring threat mostly beyond her comprehension; all she knew was he was a soldier called off to war time and time again. Then, three years ago, her father's cancer came back for him. Within another year death returned for her heartsick mother, who caught influenza and simply gave up.

Marina checked her makeup in the visor mirror while the car idled at a stoplight. It was bothersome that her face was beginning to show down-turned wrinkles between her eyebrows and around her mouth rather than laugh lines. Add to the list of miseries: she desperately missed her sister Diana, who lived in Australia. The two sisters had rooted in the host countries during their college student exchange programs, and now with their parents dead and gone they had no old home to go back to. Last time they met face to face, Diana had remarked that Marina's face was startlingly aged.

Back in Choshi, she slowed to turn off the main road. It would be good to be home where she could get out of these uncomfortable semi-formal clothes, into her old clay-stained jeans and a sweater. She didn't even want to deal with pottery today after devoting several days to showing off her work. Her legs were swollen after driving all day, and she simply wanted to put them up and relax with a book.

It was troublesome to see an unrecognized fire-red vehicle parked on the side of the driveway loop. The brown truck she identified as Kento's, which was little comfort. She thought the world of her son's best friend, but he too was a Ronin Warrior and this could stand as a sign of trouble.

An even bigger sign of trouble was the enormous white tiger that walked around from the side of the house to curiously inspect the station wagon. It meandered up and sat right in her car's path to the garage. The day's burdens temporarily forgotten, she laid on the horn and screamed.

In the backyard, Cye was already standing up with a long stretch when he heard the honking and shouts along with the sight of flashing headlight beams over the roof.

"Oh geez, White Blaze!" He dashed around the house with Ryo close on his heels.

It took a minute for Marina to calm down even when she saw her son move out of the shadows to effortlessly coax the animal out of the way. It even looked as though the tiger had a vague, friendly smile as she let her car coast past into the garage where she immediately jabbed the door remote.

"It's okay, mum," her son said through the frosted windowpane. "White Blaze is Ryo's pet. We'll leave him out for now, but later you'll have to come out and meet him."

"Oh, I'm so glad," Marina halfheartedly tried to laugh. The fright had given her heart quite a jolt and her words came out in a wheeze.

She sensed another shadow passing over her life as she moved through the door into her home and found her children walking through the patio door from where there was a fire blazing in the pit and that tiger, who merely flopped down near its warmth. Following behind were Kento and a compact, dark young man. He was common in Cye's friend group pictures and judging from the few tales he yielded, this gentleman was the leader of the Ronin Warriors. The entire scene made her heart drop.

As soon as she saw Cye she began to cry. His appearance had been changing somewhat noticeably, though familiarity had bred such complacency she had not truly noticed until she had not seen him in nearly a week. The overhead light cast especially severe shadows under his cheekbones, giving him a gaunt look despite his massive stature.

"Mum…" Cye wanted to say it would be okay. He couldn't. He merely stepped forward and hugged his mother, who clutched at his shirt in grief. It was the first time she'd let her tears show in front of strangers, the first time they betrayed her true fear.

"What more does God want from you?" Thick tears drowned her voice. Occasionally she would gasp with grief and wail into the sleeves of her blouse. Abruptly she snarled, "He took you away to be a child soldier! And you two!"

Cye, Kento, and Ryo all flinched at the term, never really having considered it that way before.

She sobbed and shuddered, forcing the worst of it through so that she could begin to compose herself. Eventually she let go of Cye, turned away with her eyes down until she was facing the collage of photographs and collection of personal relics laid out as a memorial to her lost family members. She reached out to turn the switch on the ceramic lighthouse she'd sculpted for her husband when he was alive, the light to guide him home. W hile everyone else stood behind watching in silence, she held the cord a moment with her gaze fixed upon her favorite picture of Hitoshi. Her gaze then drifted up to a grainy monochrome photograph taken in the 1920s. A fair-haired man stood at the wheel of his precious watercraft. It was her paternal grandfather Cyrus Talbot, the man for whom her son was named. Papa Cye had been her favorite of the grandparents, loud and boisterous, humorous and always full of energy. In her childhood he was like a pirate, unapologetically crude, always armed with jokes or tales of his days as a rum runner to the Americans during their prohibition.

Until his last year of life. When Marina was not quite thirteen he fell ill to all the senses. He complained over the lights being too harsh; conversation and ambient noise were too loud; smells both hungered and nauseated him; there was a perpetual discomfort within his body. Too any observer he began a strange growth, an elongation in not only within the limb bones of the body but also the cranium until he held a large, ominous appearance. His temper worsened with the days until the hitherto loving husband savagely beat his wife. Ambulances were called, scandal and familial shame swept through. In the end Papa Cye deteriorated in the confines of a sanatorium until his death mere weeks later, mumbling some mad meaningless river of words.

It was one of the worst years of Marina's life, one which haunted her from time to time. Now, seeing her child standing here with the same eerie shadows of hair and shift in shape… how could she stop it? Had she passed on the curse by passing on the name?

"I was at Dr. Emaru's office," Cye was trying to work out how to breach the subject. "Last night I was swimming-"

"Swimming! In these tides!"

If only she knew what he had endured to find his Torrent armor. Mildly he went on, "Yeah, I know. I paid for it. Long story short, dislocated arm and a bump on the head. Doctor says I've got to rest for now, physical therapy starting next week. They also took a blood panel for this."

He gestured at the changes in his face. "But that's not the important part. While I was out there I had a vision."

"Was this before or after you hit your head?"

"Long before. I was visited by…" he could not tell her Anubis and the Ancient, for she didn't know who they were. His concussed brain couldn't find a description. "Help me out, guys."

"They're pretty much our spirit guides," the dark haired one, Ryo, explained. "The monks who look out for us when we're lost."

Marina stared anxiously. Cye continued, "They told me that we have three full moons - which means two months from last night - before a gate opens."

"Oh my god…" Marina whispered. "That door people are seeing in the harbor!"

The three Ronins nodded solemnly.

"We're trying to stop it before it opens and unlocks whatever is on the other side," Kento said.

"It's what's affecting me. If we don't stop it…" Cye looked up at her with fear in his eyes.

Marina thought again of how her grandfather decayed, and her protective instincts could be smothered no more. This time she would not flee. She would march to hell and back if she could protect her son. "We will find a way."

…

Sage and Rowen walked among the people coursing toward the seaside park near the Naruto Strait, across from the point where the Mouri matriarch had looked out earlier that day. Here they were given a magnificent view of the monstrous whirlpools perpetually churning in the bay. Once again onlookers were setting up for tonight in hopes of seeing the gate.

"Anything yet?" a son asked his father as the man scanned across the bay through the binocular stand.

"Nope," was the reply. "Hope we didn't miss it."

"Are they serious?" Rowen whispered to Sage. "I can see the reflection. Faint, but it's there."

"It's not faint at all to me," Sage said in horror. It was there, alright. A frame of red reflected light frothed in the churning waters, intricately detailed enough to drive home the fact that it was indeed very real.

The two bought food from a vendor truck, found a suitable viewing spot on the hill and unrolled a blanket where they sat eating their dinner with a burning citronella candle set on the grass. The moon rose not long after the sun sank below the horizon, and people began to shout excitedly that they could barely see some epic door out in the water while others argued that they couldn't see anything or that it wasn't as visible as last night. Halo and Strata waited in pensive silence.

At one point Rowen slipped away to find a payphone. He rang up the Mouri residence, spoke with Ryo, told him what he saw: no disturbance with the door or the armor orbs.

Near midnight they left the blanket and sleeping bags on the park lawn in favor of making a trek up across the bridge. There was a clutter of people gathered at a point on the bridge's sidewalk, all fussing and huddling in as if to see something from a very particular spot.

Sage could see glow of life energy diffused around them, with more curious onlookers moving toward the mass in a bright stream.

"What do you see?" Rowen noticed the way his one visible eye gawked.

"Everyone's life force is so vivid right now," Sage was nearly entranced by the light trails. When he looked over at Rowen he was startled by the deep blue enveloping him, momentarily certain that everyone might be able to see the aura. He led them into the flood of people and was so overcome by the extrasensory assault he took to walking with his eyes closed and a hand on the rail to guide him. "I think I can empathize with the way Cye's been feeling so agitated."

Before they arrived at the chokepoint they stopped to look out into the water. Here it was not just a ghostly image mirrored in the ragged waves. The gate flickered like a candle flame from where it stood above the whirlpools. It was still invisible to others at this point, though a few passerby stopped and stood alongside the two, trying to see what they saw before giving up and moving further along to crowd in with the others.

Halo and Strata followed along, pressed in to wait their turn. They shuffled through into the magic point where the gate's color and details focused as though through a lens. It appeared as a barricade of dark wood stained old red color of dried blood, contrasted by dagger-bright glints of moonlight caught on silver nodule detailing. All other colors that may have once decorated this gate were swallowed by the shadowy crevices.

Once through the throng of people, the Ronins walked back toward their turf. They stopped once more to give one more grim look to make certain that nothing moved.

The vigil went on until morning. When it grew late and most of the crowd thinned out Sage left Rowen asleep on the blanket and went for a walk down to the waterside. The tidewater lapped at the land in sprays, Halo wondered how high it would reach when the massive gate finally opened. He recalled Cye's question last night as he could not rid himself of the feeling that he was being watched. Torrent had asked if they could see anything in the water. Sage saw the gate and its reflection, but nothing more no matter how long he watched the seawater. Finally he turned away. How could something be out on the east coast last night and here in the south tonight? But he took one more look at the gate and remembered the possibilities that had come to light throughout his time as a warrior.

He returned to the blanket, laid down beside Rowen, and slept lightly. Both were afflicted with a sense of strangulation, blackness all around. There was a gurgling slew of sounds, certainly inhuman, yet their dream minds understood its words as they struggled to free themselves from unseen grasps. " _You are not him…"_

When they woke nothing had changed except the sky: the stars had faded out, the moon settled into the western horizon just as the sun climbed up from the east. The two took another walk to the bridge, which was free of other pedestrians at this hour. They looked out into the water and found nothing, not even when they stood in the marked spot. By now the sun was up and the moon was gone.

They packed up and found a nearby diner for breakfast. Following the meal, Sage called and spoke with Cye, choosing to withhold his dream with the justification that it was only the stress of the situation reflected in his subconscious. He told him of the door, the focal point on the bridge, the stationary gate. "The whole night just gave me a bad feeling. But absolutely nothing happened."

"No, and it won't for two more months," Cye responded simply. "What Anubis and the Ancient said must be true."

It was determined then: they were safe and free to go about their business as usual.

Neither Strata nor Halo said much until after the car was in motion on the highway. Rowen noticed the pensive look on Sage's face which reflected his own unease. "I dunno about you but I slept like hell. I kept having a weird nightmare last night. There was absolutely nothing around me, but the air was cold and slimy, and it felt like it was stealing my breath while that same nothingness was crushing me. And a voice was saying-"

"'You are not him,'" Sage finished the sentence.

Rowen paled. "Another one of those shared dreams. Last time this happened, you, Cye, and Kento ended up trapped by the Dynasty."

"Whatever that thing is, I hope it didn't just feed on our energy."

 _++To be continued++_


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: I am not a doctor! Medical inaccuracies abound!

 **Chapter Thirteen**

Nearly three weeks passed.

All the Ronins had gone their separate ways for now, only somewhat content to wait out the time while searching for answers. It seemed now everyone felt the awful tick of the clock within Cye.

One afternoon he took a few hours to attack the body hair first with an electric clippers, then a brand new razor, then tweezers for the finishing touch. Everything between his waist and the crown of his head was included, even the eyebrows which were now cleaned up. Feeling much better with his appearance, more himself despite the irreversible changes in his bare jaw, Cye showered, changed, and took a trip into town for a proper haircut and new clothes.

The water warrior began to feel like a functional member of society once again. His dislocated shoulder seemed to heal itself within a few days and he was none the worse for wear, unhindered while taking a daily swim or working on the latest board. This didn't stop him from making physical therapy appointments to learn specific exercises, which did indeed work to heal the residual aches of the injury. He resisted at first before he realized that time away from the armor during in his studies had allowed his sculpted physique to go a little soft even with his impeccable metabolism, and this was a fine way to maintain himself. The nausea dropped off, the appetite settled, even the hair seemed to be under control.

With a little rest and daily mental exercises, the concussion's effects wore away and his cognitive abilities seemed uninhibited, at least until he grew tired, which was all too much these days. The notion that he wasn't as intellectually sharp was a terrible thing in itself.

One Wednesday evening he was hunched over his school books, desperately lost, half-asleep. Though he managed to catch up on homework, the grades had already started to suffer from missing lectures. Yet he kept on reading, his eyes going up and down, right to left, over and over until the words simply stopped making sense to him. Frustration overtook his mind at a primitive level, and his entire body shuddered as he sobbed tears of mental exhaustion. The tears were all too few, for he barely had the energy for it… All at once he woke up atop his pile of books. He stretched and groaned, made his way to bed where he fell asleep with the lamp on.

The following Monday he was summoned to a meeting in the head office via letter. Cye's stomach sank into a cold pit the moment he recognized the handwriting. It intensified as he neared the building and ascended the steps. By the time he stepped into the room and faced the assembled board seated on one side of a U-shaped desk he was afraid he would be sick if he opened his mouth to speak. Several of those people were his instructors. He straightened his freshly pressed jacket and stood before them.

"Mr. Mouri, we are truly glad to see you," began the dean.

Cye bowed deeply and kept a mask of neutrality. The man adjusted the round wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he examined the papers on the desk. While Torrent waited he studied the man's greased-back hair and lined tie, unable to shut out the hyperawareness of details that mixed with the nervousness. He didn't need this, not now.

"Do you know why you are here, young man?"

"I suppose it's because I missed several lecture hours," Cye admitted. "My comprehension is slipping."

"It is," he affirmed and read off the change in his grade point average. Not good.

"I've taken time after lecture to speak with my professors-" he looked around at some of them.

"Pardon my saying so," interrupted Professor Yagasu, the Hydrodynamics instructor, "but even though you have returned to class you still seem distracted. Perhaps your body is healed, but not your mind."

Cye hesitated, certain they were right, and apologized with another bow. "My deepest regrets for wasting your time, Professors."

"Mr. Mouri," Professor Nagano, the woman who had taught nearly all of his mathematics classes, folded her hands neatly on the desk. She said, "Allow me to speak frankly. I have known you for some time now and this is the poorest you've ever done for yourself. Everyone in this room is aware of the injury you've suffered, and it has certainly affected you, even if it's a temporary condition. We are concerned that if you continue this path now it will lead to failure."

"What do you suggest?" he asked hesitantly, already knowing the answer.

The dean spoke for all of them. "The best course of action would be to take the rest of the semester off. Reassess your course of education. Should you wish to continue your enrollment within the program, take what classes you can next semester, then restart your current courses next year."

Cye stood stunned. There was no arguing, he knew it was the truth. Finally he managed a nod, then acceded, "That decision is the wisest."

He bowed lower than before, lamenting again with his eyes averted in humiliation before he excused himself from the gathering. He walked along the granite and cinderblock hall on his way to the registration office with all the necessary paperwork in hand and shame burning visibly in his face. He'd never been kicked out of school before! He'd never even had detention! What was this, anyway - suspension? Did that term apply to college?

Once outside the Ronin of Torrent glanced up at a gap in the skyline dominated by the waxing gibbous moon. Despite the other students meandering around the campus he was angry enough to raise his fist and middle finger in its general direction just before dark storm clouds overtook it.

…

There was nothing different about the answering machine when he arrived home in the gloom. It flashed three times, indicating as many messages. The first two were for Marina and he was beginning to feel relieved when the third began to play. The young receptionist's voice sent a chill over him. "Mouri Cye, please call Dr. Emaru's office at…"

He hit the stop button and dialed as fast as he could. The phone rang once before the same voice answered and informed him that the doctor was with a patient, could he please hold? After a few minutes of Cye waiting on the line, the doctor picked up. "Your test results are in. I apologize for the wait but the lab tech I spoke with said they had some difficulty in getting the results."

Cye didn't bother to ask why. He wasn't exactly surprised. He urged, "And?"

"Well," the doctor shuffled the papers audibly to drag out the moment. He was not used to such rudeness from this patient. "All the numbers are optimal. I've spoken with the phlebotomist who looked over the numbers. Every basic test shows that all organs are functioning normally. Your blood cell count and hormone levels aren't out of balance. A somewhat high number of old platelets, but nothing abnormal considering your injuries prior to the tests. No signs of anything, not even a rash."

 _Of course not,_ Cye thought.

"However, It does not seem right to me based on your physical appearance. Now the next thing we can do is run more specific tests. I have several specialists for referrals-"

"Thank you Doctor, but I've been feeling quite well lately. Nothing a bit of rest and hydration didn't help. The PT has strengthened my shoulder just as you said, and my mind is much clearer," he said in a syrupy tone.

"I'm pleased that this has turned out favorably. Admittedly, though, it was startling to see such a difference. Did you make an appointment with the endocrinologist?"

"Yes, I'm not able to get in for almost six weeks," Torrent lied. He had made the call, and they were unable to schedule him until next month. He omitted the fact that he never set an appointment. His time would be out by then.

Emaru sighed at this. "You look after yourself and ring me up if there's any change in your health, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good. I expect to see you for a follow-up appointment soon."

"Not bloody likely," Cye said after he hung up the phone.

…

It was impossible to ignore the puzzled look in the dentist's eyes when the man was hovering only inches from Cye's face.

"Hmm," was all he said.

"Hnng?" Cye hummed, unable to speak with his mouth wide open.

Dr. Goda removed his mirror and hook from the patient's mouth and wheeled his chair around to open a file. He said, "It looks as though your teeth are changing. Wisdom teeth are coming in, most likely. They're a bit more crowded in the lower and a bit in the upper molars. Now, you're blessed with straight teeth and I really don't think there will be much of a problem. It is advisable to remove the wisdom teeth while you are relatively young but it's not dire at this moment. Maybe a little uncomfortable, that's all."

"I have been having some issues with pain," Cye admitted. "My physician hasn't been able to give any answers."

"Then this could be a contributing factor. I'd like to get an updated x-ray for comparison. It's not the crowding that bothers me, it's the shape. Your upper incisors are looking more pointed than I remember."

Cye shut his mouth tight.

"Have you been eating anything tough? Popcorn kernels? Not gnawing on steak bones, I hope?" the dentist tried to jest.

Cye didn't laugh. Instead he blushed and said, "No."

"Then it's still a mystery. Come back to the x-ray room."

After going through the head vice and rotating camera Cye sat on the exam chair staring at a copy of the panoramic x-ray clipped to the light board. Though he couldn't see it on film the dentist confirmed that his teeth were very sharp indeed. Cye could, however, see small differences in the position of his teeth by comparison to his last set of x-rays from two years ago. Perhaps this was an explanation for what was happening, yet it didn't seem to be enough.

Once at home he picked up the phone and dialed Mia's mobile.

…

Professor Koji sat in her office, unable to focus on reading student essays. Her mind simply wouldn't settle for work. It kept whirling around, always landing on the email she wrote last night. The phrases from Cye's dream brought back a considerable number of search results across the worldwide web of libraries. Most of her downtime had been spent wading through entries and always finding dead ends… until yesterday. The exact wording came up in the search bar but the link was broken. It was sourced from Miskatonic University, which she learned through a bit of research was an American university in the Massachusetts city of Arkham. Many of the query results were links to fiction stories set in or around the town.

Her mobile rang on the desk. She unfolded the mouthpiece, pulled up the antenna and answered, "Moshi moshi?"

"Mia, it's Cye."

"Cye, I might have a lead. The keywords brought up a broken link for the Miskatonic University library. Have you heard of that college?"

"No."

"Neither have I, but I wrote to them to request a transcript. There hasn't been any word yet. This feels like it could be something we're looking for."

"I certainly hope so."

"Listen, I have to get to my next class. Let me call you when there's a reply, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you, Mia." Cye hung up, confident that the Ronin's faithful lore keeper would provide an answer. He looked out the window at the blue sky and steady waves.

"Well, at least it's a nice day today," he reasoned to himself. There had been too many bad days lately, best to savor each good one. He changed into his swim shorts, took the tri-fin down from the wall, and walked it to the shore where he hopped aboard and paddled out.

And it was a good day until a wave toppled him off his prized board, the very first one he'd carved, which was never seen again when the ankle leash snapped. Cye kicked in all directions with his eyes open below the waves, searching all over until he retired to the surface.

"Aw man," he groaned. "My favorite ride."

 _++To be continued++_


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Notes: Credit to a few outside fiction sources that serve as plot points in this chapter. Miskatonic University and the monstrous deities known by many names (including Great Old Ones, most famously Cthulu) are creations of horror author H.P. Lovecraft. Dr. Knowby is a product of the Evil Dead franchise, which shares the Necronomicon with the Lovecraft universe.

 **Chapter Fourteen**

Mia snapped awake. She didn't remember being tired or when she fell asleep, she was only confused and reflexively frightened when she opened her eyes in the study. The room was aglow with the blue computer screen on the desk and the moon filtered through the curtains, yet somehow the light was all wrong. It created illusions of movement in the ancient armors that stood guard over the countless books.

She got up to walk off the adrenaline and tidy the desk. Frankly she was surprised she could fall asleep in here at all; this room held a restless energy ever since the Dynasty had managed to animate some of these armors in order to attack her and the others. Once the lecture notes were filed away in her briefcase she decided to check her email before the computer was shut down for the night. Unexpectedly, at last, there was the Miskatonic domain name she had been waiting to see.

The address name was impersonal, as the user wrote in English-

 _Miss Koji-_

 _I am Dr. Brian Keane, archaeology professor at Miskatonic University. Your search request has come to my attention. Included is a brief assessment of the texts you seek. Forgive the language barrier, for I have difficulty with your Japanese. Should you need further assistance on my behalf, please call._

 _This is a comprehensive and in no way complete history of the texts containing this particular poem. They are vile and maddening, and I do not advise looking upon these few verses for very long. The phrases you seek are but the first stanza in a song. Its lack of rhythm makes it like a frantic story as it narrates a prediction of Armageddon. The words are written in a Japanese dialect of the R'lyeh language belonging to the water people known to worship the Old Ones._

 _There exists a Sumerian collection of instructions and incantations - in fact, a grimoire of pure evil - known to the modern times as Necronomicon Ex Mortem; Naturom Demonto; the Book of the Dead. It is written well over three millennia ago by a religious sect who held chaotic and quite sinister beliefs centered around worship of malicious cosmic entities the called by various translations: the Old Ones, the Elder Ones, the Elder Gods, the Dark Ones. This religion believed that these immortal beings were greater than the limits of our comprehension in both physical and psychic terms. The Elder Gods were thought to sleep for millenia within the trenches of our oceans, and when the fateful stars align in the future they will wake and rise to feed on earthly life. Prophecies tell of madness and slaughter will consume our world._

 _The followers of the Old Ones referred to themselves as the Dark Sea, not just an allusion to the dark seas from which their gods would rise, but also as a testament to their mass of believers spread across the known world. They believed they would be spared from the madness or enlightened by delirium - either way, a better outcome for the common man, who would rot in both body and mind. There are particular incantations that are supposed to either summon or bind demons, chants to raise the dead, potent words guarded as mortal secrets. The Dark Sea documented these sacred invocations and delivered unto us the Book of the Dead._

 _Such records were lost until the book's discovery in the Temple at Ur by Professor Raymond Knowby of our own staff in 1980. Much of Dr. Knowby's notes and tape transcriptions were copied into the university's files as footnotes to supplement the select copied passages. Much like your university's specialized department for folklore and otherwise esoteric knowledge, Miskatonic Library houses an entire section of its decimal system to the Necronomicon and similar texts dedicated to the dark arts and all the mythological associations. The Professor's Japanese research holds similar works which are shelved as individual texts. Here is where we find the poem you seek, with its themes of water, hidden evils, and decay next to the infamous Book of the Dead._

 _This poem is a prediction of chaos written by the Hiroshima Garasu Lake tribe of Ancient monks, an extinct tribe who once guarded knowledge of both light and dark. The original symbols were sculpted onto a water-worn stone tablet submerged in the mud just outside a sunken temple, deep within the heart of the lake. It was several years before it made its way into Knowby's possession. It claims one such elemental water god seeks the life force of the pure, always searching for the perfect vessel for its chaotic whims; to corrupt the brightest light is to consume the most souls. To utter such a haggard incantation in its original tongue is to unlock a demonic force, yet the same tablet is said to be counteracted by a twin tablet reverently known as the Garasu Lock, which contains a banishment spell for these same forces. This second tablet remains within the temple, supposedly cursed. All of it is considered with the same potency for evil as the Necronomicon; as such I send only the scantest information, for there is danger in this knowledge._

 _The nonsensical and rather guttural words are somehow commonly uttered by those afflicted by the primitive term 'lunacy' in all its associations to the moon. None of these people have any exposure to the manuscripts, yet they develop the noises from somewhere beyond the reaches of their conscious mind. Not only are these poor souls given to a certain madness and sensitivity of the nerves, they all suffer the condition of hirsutism - extreme hair growth on the body. However, this is not to say all hirsute people suffer this affliction. So-called lunatics often undergo such sudden growth, the condition results in a drastic change of appearance. They are often fearful of seeing a full moon, citing a peculiar quality found in its light. There seems to be one commonality between legends and the documented cases - the one suffering inevitably meet with death, as if the body and mind simply burn themselves out._

 _I hesitate to share these files even now, therefore, please pardon these cryptic accounts. You are cautioned once again to look upon these symbols for as little time as possible. Good luck._

 _-Dr. Keane_

…

A document attachment was enclosed. Mia scanned it for viruses, found none, downloaded and opened it. Green text lit the dark screen with many letters and inflection marks she'd never seen before. Occasionally there were fragments or sentences translated in the wide spacing between lines. There was certainly something ominous in the strange curves and slashes, and she instinctively shut off the screen.

She was thrilled to have such information, if not a bit bothered that Professor Keane withheld so much more from her. Much of it puzzled her, including the English, and so the next day she summoned Rowen to her campus office for help in translation. He did not share her enthusiasm.

"He can't be serious," was all he said at first. Once while reading, then again when they concluded and Mia turned to take in his reaction. "This is a straight-up lie. All of these things are plot points in American movies. Those texts, the concept of a lock and key to keep out evil! It's all made up! This guy is screwing with you, Mia!"

"I don't think he is. Why would he have any reason to? And to include such detailed files!"

"There are pathological liars all over the place-"

Professor Koji pointed out, "By definition, Talpa is considered an Old One!"

Rowen's could not debate that.

Mia pointed out, "That part describing exactly what's happening to Cye, do you think that he's lying about that, too? Besides, this is the only information we have to go on right now."

The air Ronin knew she was right. He might as well assist as much as possible in the research. Besides, there was something intriguing about those sigils, some hypnotic quality in the flow of etched lines. The longer he stared at them, the more he was certain he could make sense of them.

"Will you forward this to me?" He asked while peering over her shoulder at the original texts.

Mia was a little startled and once again bothered on a professional level that Rowen should be so forward as to ask for such a thing. Especially after several written pleas for secrecy from Professor Keane.

"No, I shouldn't," she said with authority. "It would be a betrayal to the man's trust and a danger. He said right here not to look at it too long."

Rowen stared at the screen a little more. "You're right. Sorry."

"It's alright. I understand the curiosity. If I buy you lunch, will you stay a while and help me figure some of this out?"

"Sure."

Neither of them spoke for a moment, as neither wanted to bring up the glaring omen contained in Dr. Keane's letter. Finally, Rowen asked, "Do you believe what he said about other people who have had it before?"

Mia gulped. Before she could answer, the department's secretary knocked on the door.

"Professor Koji? There's a student out here who wishes to speak with you."

"I'll be right back," Mia said to Rowen and rose to leave.

Rowen watched her go. As soon as he was certain she was far from the office his eyes drifted back to the screen. Her conversation droned in the background while he furtively opened the file drawer where she kept the memory disks, took one of the blanks to be inserted into the drive. With a few button taps a copy of the email and the glyph files were saved. He ejected the disk, enclosed it in its protective case, and stashed it in his jacket's inner breast pocket.

 _++To be continued++_


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Notes: The latter half of this chapter is set in Hiroshima, which is not just a fluke. In the past I've read that Cye is descended from the Mori clan who built the castle and founded the city, and held considerable naval power. The geography pertaining to fictional Garasu Lake is obviously incorrect.

One section of this chapter might also be a tad TMI. I'm not trying to weird out any readers but I am aiming for a blunt rendition of Cye's ailment.

 **Chapter Fifteen**

"No way," Cye folded his arms across his chest.

"You don't have any scuba gear. I do," Sayoko defended.

"I can get it by the time we go."

"You're not fit for it! You've been out of practice too long."

Cye began to reassert his original argument to make the journey relying only on his lungs.

Sayoko knew where he was going and stopped the words before they formed. She countered, "And you can't free dive into a submerged structure you know nothing about and expect to survive."

"I can use Torrent," the water Ronin turned his argument to Ryo.

"I dunno if that's a good idea," Ryo began. "We talked about this before."

"We did, and I didn't want to call it forth, but maybe it's necessary in this operation."

Rowen said, "I stand by what we've already decided: if the armor is consuming your energy, we need to limit its usage. Only to open the gate."

"Couldn't one of us use our armor to get the job done?" Kento posed the question. "Sage, you could do it. Use Halo's sword to light the way."

"I think it's a bad idea to bring any of the armors into this at all," Sage quirked his mouth in disagreement. He thought of the nightmare that waited to strangle him in his sleep even now. "With the way they're linked, what if even one armor acts like a drain on the others?"

Namely Torrent. It was a severe sting to his pride as a warrior. He huffed, too mad to speak for a moment. First Sayoko had overheard a conversation about this development in Garasu Lake, something about an underwater shrine. This had piqued her curiosity as a diver. The lake itself seemed significant, as it lay near their ancestral home. The Ronins collectively agreed to attempt a retrieval of the banishing tablet, all of which she heard when she eavesdropped on the conversation between him and Mia. Eventually she had convinced him to let her meet with Mia under the pretense of helping form a strategy. Now that she was here she was trying to insinuate herself into the plans while he was effectively being benched.

His sister wheedled, "C'mon, Cye, it's the single thing I can do to help. I can't just sit around helplessly, it will drive me crazy!"

"I can understand that," Yuli said from the kitchen where he and Mia were busy making coffee for the visitors.

"I don't want you getting mixed up in this. You don't know how dangerous any of it may be. Hell, we as Ronin Warriors don't know how dangerous this is! Nobody knows what to expect with this temple."

"Well, what are your other options?" Sayoko asked with a smug grin.

To Mia he said, "You sure there's no way to drain the lake like Anubis did for the Jewel of Life temple?"

Mia shook her head grimly. "Not that I've found so far."

"Didn't think so," Cye flapped a hand at the idea. Nobody had a suggestion. He sighed irritably as he yielded to the idea. "Fine."

"Fine," Sayoko said in an upbeat tone that suggested she'd mastered the art of arguing with her brother long ago. Now that the issue was settled she switched into planning mode. "It can't happen until we get a layout of the place. I want to know about entrances, rooms, known hazards, any detail you can think of that may or may not kill us. Mia, do you have any maps on file?"

"Let's go check," Mia set aside the coffee grounds and led them upstairs. Sayoko followed closely, taking in the home and hostess she'd met only an hour ago. The woman was tall, slender, crowned with straight, coppery auburn hair, graced with green eyes that always seemed to be watching everything around her in keen interest. She was a few years older than Sayoko, nearly thirty, and she seemed very well-established for a woman still so young. During the drive here, Cye had explained that Mia had been studying history and mythology under her grandfather's tutelage at the university when the Dynasty attacked. She had survived the human roundup and witnessed the Dynasty assault firsthand, losing her grandfather to them. Standing so close to evil was like being in the eye of a storm, for she did not suffer the absence of memory collectively felt by the rest of the world. It was she who knew the legends, the one who knew they must coordinate and where to go when they were scattered apart in suspended animation among their elements. She carried herself with a subtle intellectual air, yet she was friendly and quite used to playing the part of big sister, thus Sayoko found a kindred energy she instantly liked in the redhead.

There was also Yuli. He had been mentioned as a bystander in the wars, caught up exactly like Mia was. But it was surprising to see someone so young, someone who by all other appearances was very normal. He was of average body build, somewhat short, with dark brown hair contrasted by large, sky-blue eyes. The boy was perhaps fourteen or fifteen, as old as the Ronin Warriors were when they first marched off to war. He bubbled enthusiasm from the moment he first arrived as he ran around the house to greet everyone, though there was a visibly wary edge to his personality. He was always looking around as though he expected the décor to start moving, or for some unexpected enemy to crash through the windows even while he showed off the newest kendo stick he'd brought over specifically for sparring against Sage.

As for the Koji mansion, Sayoko was overwhelmed. Its rooms were large, modestly plain in the color scheme, topped with high ceilings. They moved through the open-concept kitchen and dining room with a staircase running alongside that ascended to a second floor overlooking the single space. Looking closer, she noticed magnificent detailing in the dark woodwork of the railings. At the top of the stairs there was a choice of two wings. One, she could only guess, contained multiple bedrooms if the guys all managed to stay here. The other wing contained the master bath and two rooms with their doors open to reveal a collection of formidable antique armor and the largest personal library she had ever seen.

Mia moved among the armor and the books as though they weren't there at all. Instead she sat at her desk and fired up the new computer she had purchased only last year. She opened the search file program and began typing in queries. There it was, the catalogue number for the small cartography section. She sifted through the littoral maps until she found the match.

"This is all. There's no other information, at least not that I can find right now." She quirked her mouth regretfully. "A lot was lost during the Dynasty raids."

Torrent looked over the map. Something in its shape was familiar enough to spark certainty in his heart. "This is it."

…

Cye lay awake in the dark. Ryo and Kento slept in the next hotel bed, both roaring with deep snores that had kept him awake much of the night. White Blaze didn't help, as he snored nearly as loud as both the fire and earth Ronins, while his musk was twice as strong. By now Cye was deliriously tired, and the sun wasn't even up yet.

Despite all this, he was uncomfortably aroused in the early morning hour. Normally he thought little of either sex, though both managed to draw his attention from time to time. Right now, however, he found himself unable to look away from Kento's bare chest. He could certainly appreciate his best friend's physique, and while he'd had a few guilty thoughts about him once or twice before, currently he was beyond transfixed. It was a strange lust, a craving more akin to hunger. He rolled away to face the wall. He breathed, powerless to shut out the urge that began as a desire to kiss that broad, bare body and twisted into an impulsive drive to sink his teeth into that flesh and tear out a bite, to taste the iron in the blood.

Cye sat up, adjusted himself in his boxers, and headed into the bathroom where a cold shower did little to calm his discomfort. He leaned against the tile wall and whispered to himself, "You're becoming a monster."

…

In the room across the hall, Sage showered for the day, trying to keep the noise down at such an early hour. Afterward he crept through the room and was surprised when Rowen breathed deeply and opened his eyes.

"Morning," the archer grumbled.

"Morning," Sage echoed. "Sorry if I woke you."

"Nah, you didn't. I was awake when you got up."

"I'm surprised," Sage laughed.

"I haven't been sleeping well since that night we were at the whirlpools." Rowen's tone was humorless if not a little worried. When Sage said nothing he concluded drearily, "Sometimes I have that same nightmare."

Sage remained silent. Rowen knew he was too shocked to admit that he was suffering the dream as well.

…

Sayoko rose with the morning light. She moved silently past Mia's sleeping form in the next bed and stood at the window, looking out at the green world and feeling tired already. She'd slept little with anxiety over simply being in Hiroshima. Background radioactivity levels had been acceptable for years and people lived here, so two days here wouldn't kill her or the others, but she could not shake the urge to just conduct the diving business and get the hell out of here.

That was not the case, though. There were several reasons for this trip. They were here in reverence for what had happened in very nearly fifty years ago, to see the few atom-blasted structural skeletons left standing as a reminder of war's atrocities. It was not a journey one usually sought out, but rather participated in as an act of remembrance when one was close enough to pay their respects. Yesterday they went around town looking up at blackened metal and reversed silhouettes burned onto the pavement. All five of the Ronin Warriors seemed especially stoked and equally horrified to see these things, which Sayoko attributed to their personal experiences on the battlefield. She'd seen her maternal grandfather with the same tightly-reined morbid enthusiasm around military monuments.

The siblings were also distant descendents of the same Mouri clan who owned the ancient destroyed Hiroshima castle. The palace was lost in the bombing, rebuilt as a replica for modern day. There had been scheduled time for a tour and pictures of the nicknamed Carp Castle, which left the siblings awed and slightly humbled by their ancestor's once-mighty home.

Sayoko sorted through her camera bag to ensure everything was in place with enough film and the ticket for the boat reservation. She wished everyone would wake soon so that they could get the day started. The tiny tick of her wristwatch bothered her as she thought of molecules bombarding her body with unfelt ionizing energy, assaulting her cells, corrupting and rotting her. Only so much time.

Only then did she begin to fully comprehend the sense of dread hanging over Cye.

…

She was still tired as she slowly kicked along through the water, busy with the tasks of the preliminary dive. She made a pass around the sunken building, noting the rectangular layout and single entrance faced away from the sun, debris around the walls, and depth. According to the dive computer is was nearly 40 feet below, a level that did not require decompression time. Here and there she stopped to line up the underwater camera's viewfinder for a picture. She stopped a while to take careful documentation of the unrecognizable foreign language running in patterns around the door, all of it striking her intuition as something like a warning or a protective curse. All at once her excitement to explore the shrine was replaced with an intuitive dread. At the surface she set an anchor for the dive marker and took a guideline down to the door, stopping every so often to set little plastic orange arrows on the line that pointed up.

Once the site was prepared she hoisted herself onto the small rental pontoon boat to change out the tanks and check her equipment again. Mia and the Ronins were having a merry old time on the lake, with a spread of food across the shore's small square table. Sayoko joined them for the meal before stretching out beneath the umbrella for some rest. It seemed she just shut her eyes… and dozed off for an hour.

Cye had to wake her. "C'mon sis, we've gotta dive while we've got the best light."

With that he jumped into the lake and started swimming around to warm up his lungs and muscles.

Sayoko noticed the dark clouds forming far out over the horizon as she woke to the midday sun. One more long look at the map before she compulsively checked her gear one more time. She began her breathing exercises as she suited up. Finally she said, "Listen to me. If I find enough reason to think this operation is unsafe, I'm going to call it. Even if we've come this far, if there are conditions that will kill either of us we're not going to push it. It's foolish enough for me to go in without a partner."

Kento looked as though he was about to say something. Sayoko kept on as she waded down the ladder, "The armors might help you elsewhere, but they won't do any good if someone drowns."

A chorus of agreement all around.

"Right." To Cye she asked, "Ready?"

While he nodded and took a breath, she slipped the mask into place and fell backwards into the lake before they kicked away from the sun. The water wasn't terribly murky here, though its greenish quality swallowed much of the illumination from above. They swam out to the marker and down to find the building's entrance. Once there, Cye went up for a breath then came back down again to watch over the entrance while Sayoko made the hesitant journey alone into the temple. A school of lake minnow burst forth from the shadows, startling her a little. The light receded until there was only the beam of her flashlight. She moved slowly, high near the ceiling to avoid kicking up sediment. The walls echoed the oxygen mask's bubbly gasps, seemingly too close for comfort and yet so distant her light could not touch them. From what she saw, the chamber was mostly bare save for a few water-worn pedestals jutting up. With the reel of guideline towing from her belt, Sayoko eventually found the room to the left. She swam through to the next chamber. So far she hadn't encountered any doors. Not even as she turned to the right into another room, then right again into the chamber that was said to hold the relic. How odd, no doors on a temple devoted to a lock. What if other divers had found it long ago?

She swept the light across the room, back and forth, until she found a recession in the rear wall was a large box. Strangely, like the lack of doors, there was no lock on the lid which was nearly too heavy to lift. Sayoko wedged her dive knife into the crevice and levered the thing open. There inside was a slimy, pitted slab of silver metal that looked too revolting to touch even with gloves. Worse, it seemed too big for one person to remove. She clipped the flashlight next to her headlamp and worked at picking it up. Her movement disturbed the mud, slightly limited the visibility, and when the heavy lock tumbled with its box into the muck the visibility dropped even further. Sayoko mentally cursed and grunted as she finally got the relic waterborne, now with its grime on her dry suit. She turned with it toward the exit, struggling continuously when she nearly froze at the sight of a red glitter in the darkness. Something told her to get moving. Now.

A metal gloved hand swiped at her just then, visible only for a moment in the reach of the headlamp. It managed to rip the respirator from her mouth and knock the flashlight loose from the band. Sayoko screamed and flailed, even more sediment around her now, obscuring her vision as the light tumbled through the cloudy water and came to an eerie stop as it struck the bottom. Sayko reached out and grabbed the mouthpiece, shoved it back into her mouth and threw her entire body into swimming as fast as she could away from the mass moving through the clouds that surrounded the motionless flashlight beam, casting dreadful blurred shadows all around. This propelled her into a wall where she spent desperate seconds seeking the entryway, praying she was going the right way in the dark. Alarm rocked through her as she shuffled the weight in her arms, clutched for the guide reel only to discover it had been ripped off. Her mind flashed to the knife on her belt and abandoned the idea instantly. She would be little more then trapped prey with one sharp and ultimately useless claw. Her chances of survival were greater if she just concentrated on escape.

A current changed around her ankles, suggesting movement. Reflexively she drew her feet up, overcome by the sense that the thing was within reach. Just then a clear white light burned around her neck, heatless but sharp. It strobed into life, lighting the temple in flashes as Sayoko kicked through the lit sediment clouds. The Jewel was more of a hindrance than anything right now as its flickers did nothing more than disorient her and contrast the dark form moving around in the bright plumes. She still didn't know what it was. She felt vulnerable in the light, and worse yet: this damned flashing wasn't doing anything to stop it. There was a band of muscular fire radiating from spine to shoulders to elbows to fingers as she willed herself to hold onto the lock. Her eyes darted behind the mask while she kept searching for the guideline, one thin nylon rope that could save her life in an impossibly large room.

And there it was! She hefted the lock with a strain in her shoulder, reached out for the line and felt the arrows with her fingers. She was going the right way, but there was that thing below her and it had submerged into the murk. It could be ahead of her, or there could be more in her path. All she could do was kick on with both hands on the lock and the guideline in the circle of her arms. She was in the corner room when she felt something graze at the water around her. It was a spear, leaving a distinct energetic trail as it closed in, straight at her… until it made a very distinct arc as it was miraculously reflected around her. The Jewel of Life! So it did protect her after all! Just then there was a flash of impossible fire light, different from the Jewel which now glowed steadily, a generation of heat and percussion that rattled her teeth. An explosion! Chunks of stone showered from the ceiling, some considerably heavy pieces but all too small for harm as they pelted down. Sayoko kicked on with the singular thought of the combustible oxygen tank on her back. One close shockwave, one puncture was all it would take.

This was too much like a nightmare. She felt exposed with the loud, drawn out breaths through the mask that muffled her voice and prevented her from screaming. The drag on her fins was maddeningly slow. Her brain's basic instincts were now geared on survival, while her conscious mind was torn between two certainties: any second she would drop the lock or it would be knocked from her hands when she died in a fiery blast. It was all she could do to keep a steady breath. Down here, panic meant death. Sayoko twisted and turned through the chambers, praying that she was still going the right way.

She had scarcely reached the temple antechamber when Cye was there. He heard the rumbling, recognized unchecked fear in her eyes and urgency within her movements as she flailed away from the building. He used his sole breath to call forth his battle gear, "Armor of Torrent! Dao Shin!"

Sayoko only took quick glances while the armor appeared as if by magic. There was a high silver tone layered over the furious roar of water enclosing him, he element amplifying the sound to a nearly intolerable level in her ears. Clashing currents gave the illusion of silk around him, collided, and broke away to reveal the magnificent blue samurai armor. Its rounded, close-fitted plating completely shrouded him. Even his face was hidden behind a visor mask. There was a soft radiance around him, and once again he looked like the very embodiment of Neptune.

The heretofore unseen thing moved out of the shadowy temple, followed by two others: three total suits of armor, each appearing as a collection of shadows striving to kill her.

Cye, quite some distance away from his sister, lowered the yari until it was pointed below her finned feet. He commanded to Sayoko in a voice as clear and strong as if he stood on dry land, "Get out of here! Now!"

He swept the weapon up in a shoveling motion, creating a draft that carried her to the surface. For her part, Sayoko rode up with a giddy stomach and was even launched through the surface several feet into the air. She splashed down with a bone-rattling thud against the hunk of metal. Fear forced her to ignore this and swim on toward the boat, fighting the current as the rebound wave swelled up and washed her toward the shore. Kento jumped into the water to take the tablet from her and picked it up with no trouble at all.

"What's wrong?" Rowen asked she scrambled out of the water.

Sayoko took out the respirator with the Jewel of Life still glowing around her neck. "There's some sort of Indiana Jones Temple of Doom type trap down there. Pretty sure there are some kind of monsters guarding that. Cye's out there with them!"

Without a word, Sage leapt at the wheel and motored toward the shore as fast as the pontoon would go, away from the strike zone.

Down in the lakebed, Cye steadied himself to strike. He could feel the footsteps, the fluid resistance to movement and the change in flow around him. The guardian creatures themselves had nearly indistinguishable features in the gloomy green water. Everything was a deep black that seemed to swallow what little light there was, and the discernable contours were anonymous in their lack of defining features.

"Listen to me! I am a Ronin Warrior, Cye of the Torrent, and I come in peace! I am using your lock against evil, and I ask you to stand down!"

The three hulking armors continued to march along the lake floor with slow, mindless steps, each as mute and thoughtless as a golem conscripted to life by the theft of the lock. One raised its arm to launch a spear at Cye, who effortlessly deflected the latent burst with a wave of the trident.

The spear tip struck the floor and detonated. Torrent was unharmed but still knocked off his feet. Rather than swim up he remained on his back in the mud to lure one in. Once it was overhead reaching down for him, he locked its arms between the yari's prongs and twisted with enough torque to send the disjointed limbs flying in all directions. The armless torso began to bleed inky liquid in fine clouds. Cye pierced the chest plate, swung, and smashed the armor apart in the mud.

With a push of his legs he rocketed up from where he lay to swim in a circle around the guardian that still held a spear. It was easy enough to taunt the stupid thing into throwing away its single shot, which he easily twisted around as it blasted against a large sunken stone. The energy destroyed the boulder in a hail of pebbles. Cye slid the forked bladed into the joint between the helmet and shoulder armor and decapitated the armor. It immediately collapsed and he was alternately relieved and aghast to see that it had never been living at all. He turned without hesitation and dispatched the last standing armor with a swipe across the body and a jab at the face, all before the creature could lift its arms in defense.

There was a sweet satisfaction in the act of destruction. The trident glided through the water as though it parted the fluid around it, and it sliced apart the opposing armors so smoothly he nearly wished there were more to fight. Instead he swam up to where his friends waited onshore.

Mia watched from the water's edge where the Ronins were huddled around the lock. The Mouri sister crawled away from her shed scuba gear to dry heave in the grass, quite sick after such a dizzying ride to the surface. The black forms moved about beneath the surface as everyone watched, the other four Ronins prepared to assist if Torrent showed signs of trouble. Twice the water rose up to release the crack of sound and light created in another explosion. The anchored boat pitched this way and that until the choppy water smoothed out in a circle to precede Cye's arrival at the surface.

He slogged through the last few shallow yards up to the beach where he stood with water dripping off the armor to form a puddle around him. Back here on solid ground he felt that familiar strain of gravity. Worse still was the fade within the wells of Torrent's power.

"Are you alright?" Ryo saw how Cye stopped and wavered.

"Fine," Torrent lied as he moved toward the shore. "There must have been armors placed around the lock with a curse."

He noticed a trail of wet footprints in his wake, common enough at the height of his power. However, as he stood here thick rivulets continued to run down the armor's surface into the dirt until it streamed downhill. As the others stood watching with equal concern, he said, "Guys, I think if we're gonna summon the gate we have to do it now."

There was no argument. The other four stepped back to give each other space with their hands held out in front of them.

"Armor of Wildire! Dao Jin!"

"Armor of Hardrock! Dao Gi!"

"Armor of Halo! Dao Chi!"

"Armor of Strata! Dao Inochi!"

As the four of them were consumed within a spectrum of color - red, orange, green, deep blue - the armors' appearance generated the same currents in the air, the light shrouded them like fabric and faded away into the Ronin armors.

Sayoko's eyes flitted from one to the other, not afforded enough time to take in many details from any of them.

Ryo was shielded in red armor, masked under a bladed helmet, two sword hilts visible over the winged pauldrons, all of it radiating heat.

White Blaze leaped over his master into a defensive position. The tiger was in magnificent battle armor of jointed white plates which mysteriously shadowed his fur until it looked ashy black.

The peaked helmet and balanced horns of Rowen's indigo Strata armor accentuated the warrior's height, along with the longbow strapped to his back.

Kento's blocky build was even more massive in the rusty orange armor plating of Hardrock, his helmet crowned by crescent moon horns, shoulders and wrists and knees girded with spikes, a long testubo in his grasp.

Sage's Halo armor was all sharp angles and polished silver details to reflect light into vision-cutting luminosity.

"Move, move, move!" Leader Ryo commanded.

Cye resumed his place in the water. Kento moved out onto the spit of land amid the lake. Rowen turned and ran in the opposite direction, up a hill until he stood against the sky. Ryo and Sage took place across the field, Wildfire in a patch of dirt with his back to the sun as Halo faced directly into it. All five held their arms splayed at their sides with their heads tilted back. The colored lights returned to them, first as coronas before tendrils arced out from their hands, all curving around clockwise with their respective hues until the five energies connected into a circle. It erupted into a frenzy of white iridescence broken by colorful static, short-circuiting and reconnecting, until more rays of light shot across the circle's distance back and forth from Ronin to Ronin.

Wildfire's heat surged until the nearby plants shriveled and smoked, threatening to combust. Halo was nearly blinding to look upon as electricity crackled out to contact overhead tree branches. Wind gusted around Strata on the hill. Out on the peninsula, stones shuddered and shifted in a quake around Hardrock's feet. The lake was tumultuous with waves surrounding Torrent.

Mia and Sayoko stood safe along the boundaries of the magic circle. The Ronin's lore keeper was agape as she always was when the mystical was happening, while the Mouri sister watched in breathless awe of the great pentagram coursing between the Ronin Warriors. Never before had she seen something so otherworldly, so beautiful.

The space between them moved and rippled like heat vapors, giving way to an ancient gate that materialized in the space.

Cye struggle to keep his arms up in the air where they continued to shed water in a rain upon his helmet. He watched in astonishment as he felt his energy bleed out from the springs within the armor.

Kento was the one to break the circle when he moved inward with his shoulder braced like a battering ram. When a running charge did nothing, he shouldered against it and put all his might against the inertia. The door groaned reverberations through their bones, mobile by mere inches until at last it swung open, away from Kento who fell forward into the dirt. Rowen raced down the slope and Cye slogged out of the lake. Ryo, White Blaze, and Sage closed the distance toward the gaping maw of the portal straight over some unseen boundary, at which point gravity shifted around them until they fell sideways through the entrance.

Kento was on his feet once more. From his perspective Wildfire and Halo flew toward him and vanished into the transparent darkness contained within the doorway parameters. "What the hell!"

Cye stumbled onto land. Separated from the host element, Torrent cast itself off into the ether with a cascade. The man remained, collapsed on the ground. He struggled up to see the door rebound close and immediately fade from existence.

"No!" Rowen screamed.

"Damn it!" Kento swung his fist at the dissipating gate.

"Come back!" Cye tried and failed to summon Torrent. Again and again he cried out to the sea, "Armor of Torrent! Dao Shin!"

 _++To be continued++_


End file.
